


Tempus Fugit

by TravelersChick



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dad Ronon Dex, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Romance, Runners, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Space Cows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 132,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelersChick/pseuds/TravelersChick
Summary: When the Atlantis team detects a Runner's signal broadcasting from Sateda, they go to investigate. There they encounter a ferocious 16-year-old girl who inexplicably knows everything about Atlantis and the people who live there. The only problem is...none of them have ever met her before. This chance meeting will alter Ronon's life forever and change the way he looks at a woman he already knows.
Relationships: Ronon Dex/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 131
Kudos: 54





	1. Runner

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first fic I'm posting here on AO3, but it's actually the third(ish) installment in a Ronon-centric series I've been writing since around 2011 and posting on FF.net. I've delayed posting this particular fic here for so long because I always intended to rewrite and refine those other two installments first. Well, that hasn't happened so I'm just taking the plunge and posting! The first two fics are called Scars and Undone and you can find them on FF.net if you're interested, but I don't necessarily think that the writing in those reflects my current abilities.
> 
> That said, I think with just a few quick pieces of background info, this fic can stand on its own; reading the first two fics is not a prerequisite.
> 
> This fic will be Ronon-centric with two female original characters, one of whom is/will be his romantic interest. So if OCs aren't your thing...you've been warned. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy! I'm quite proud of this fic. :) Thanks!

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Attributing it to the chill of the winter wind, she drew the deer hide more tightly around her shoulders and added a few more logs to the fire. She knew she ran a risk burning it this brightly, but the night was too cold not to. Against the Wraith, she at least stood a fighting chance; against hypothermia, she would lose every time.

Trusting the shelter of the cave would both conceal the light of the flames and weaken the strength of the signal in her tracker, she returned to skinning one of the rabbits she had caught earlier in the day.

"Sorry, Thumper," she whispered to it as she used her dagger to cut off its feet and finally its head. "Had to do the same to Bambi here, too," she said, patting the hide draped over her back. "Now your skunk buddy," she continued as she made a rough cut through the rabbit's underbelly, "he won't have to worry. I want nothin' to do with his stinky ass." She stuck her fingers into the rabbit's gaping abdominal cavity, pulled out its intestines, and tossed them onto the crackling fire. "Wraith wouldn't even need the tracker in my back to find me if I ran into him; they'd just follow the smell," she laughed to herself.

A twig snapped just outside the entrance of her cave.

She shut her mouth and stifled her laugh as soon as she had opened it. The back of her neck was tingling again and this time, she knew she couldn't blame it on the cold. She set the rabbit down, sheathed her dagger, and slung her bow and quiver over her back. Quietly reaching for the shotgun she had found in the abandoned weapons depot, she checked the chamber to see how many bullets she had left. Still only two. She didn't know what else she had expected.

The hearty scent of meat seasoned the crisp air while the guts popped and hissed as they burned. Her stomach growled and she swallowed hard, pushing down her hunger. Game was scarce now that it was suddenly winter and she desperately needed to eat. But dinner would have to wait.

Shotgun in hand, she tentatively emerged from her stone shelter. Her breath billowed out like puffs of smoke from her mouth as she took cover behind a nearby bush and listened. The wind was strong that night. With the dead leaves rustling in the trees and blowing across the snow-dusted earth, she couldn't isolate the sounds of nature from those of approaching Wraith.

A faint beeping several yards away caught her attention – the sound of a scanner, pinpointing her location. It knew where she was. To stoop in the bushes like a scared animal was useless. Standing to her full height, which she had to admit was neither impressive nor intimidating, she arose from her hiding spot. She pressed the butt of her gun firmly against her shoulder while her finger hovered readily over the trigger.

Reacting to the crunch of leaves from a few feet behind her, she ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding the blast of a Wraith stunner. Springing back up and spinning around, she took aim and fired one of her rounds directly into the Wraith's forehead. It fell to the ground with a thud, dark blood oozing from its facial wound.

"Thirty-seven," she whispered to herself as she cautiously made her way to the corpse. She first confirmed it was dead by giving it a hard kick in the stomach, then grabbed it by its arms and began the long and familiar process of dragging it to the nearby river to dispose of it.

Halfway to the river, drenched in cold sweat, arms aching, and lightheaded, she heard the whine of a Wraith dart overhead. Abandoning the corpse, she sought refuge behind the trunk of a large tree and watched as a beam of bright light appeared from the belly of the dart to materialize yet another Wraith hunter and a company of drones onto the forest floor only a few yards from her position.

Her pulse quickened.

They never sent drones. Only hunters. And never more than one at a time.

From the moment the hunter, scanner in hand, turned to face her position, she knew it was over. They had stopped pulling punches. She was no longer worth the sport. The time had come to eliminate her.

If she survived this, she'd have to remember to be flattered.

She cocked her shotgun, peered out from behind the tree and fired her last shot straight at the hunter.

Miss.

She ditched her firearm, fumbled for her bow, and let out a curse. Gripping the bow as tightly as she could to steady her shaking hand, she pulled an arrow from her quiver. She loosed her first shot, but it bounced futilely off the drone's armor, like hail on a tin roof. She drew another and this time aimed for one of the only parts of the drone's body not protected by hard metal: its arm. The arrow pierced the drone's flesh, but it might as well have been stung by an insect; it snapped the wooden shaft, cast it to the side, and continued unperturbed in the group's advance toward her.

"Shit," she muttered, dropping her bow to the ground and unsheathing her longest dagger.

With her heart pounding against her ribcage, she left the safety the tree provided and charged at the squadron of Wraith sent to assassinate her, knife raised high into the air. Stunner blasts came at her from every direction as she snaked her way toward the drone closest to her, the static of near misses raising the hair on her head.

She kicked the stunner from the drone's hands, then tucked and rolled away as it tried to reach for her neck. The drone released its own dagger from its scabbard and barreled toward her.

"Block, thigh, strip, cut, duck, cut, finish," she recited over and over in her head. She planted her feet into the ground, blocked the Wraith's initial jab, and forced its hand down so that it stabbed itself in the thigh. With a balled-up fist, she knocked the blade out of its hand, sliced it across the forearm, sunk her dagger once into the flesh of its neck, ducked as it reached to grab her, and swiftly drew her blade across its throat.

"Thirty-eight," she thought.

As soon as the first drone fell, the next one was already on her from behind, its arms tight around her neck. She hadn't dodged fast enough. Struggling to free herself from the Wraith, she stabbed it repeatedly, hacking away at the meat of its leg, trying to get it to release its hold on her. Instead, its grip constricted like a vise around her throat. She thrashed her body against it but every move she made required precious oxygen she did not have.

It was her limbs that went limp first. Then a veil of static whiteness. Then a loud, persistent buzzing in her ears.

Just as her vision began to darken, the frigid air rushed back to her lungs and the world around her was restored. She fell first to the forest floor and the drone soon followed, killed by very a familiar red energy blast.

Sounds of automatic weapons fire filled the air and her heart soared, replenishing itself with both breath and hope alike. She pressed her body to the damp soil and stayed low on her stomach to avoid getting shot in the melee as the troop of Wraith surrounding her dropped one by one until every last drone was dead.

After taking a quick cautionary glance around her, she got to her feet and ran toward the group that had just saved her life.

"You found me!" she exclaimed, tears coming to her eyes. "Took you long enough!"

They raised their guns at her.

"Drop your weapon!" Colonel Sheppard ordered.

She stopped in her tracks and put her hands up in surrender, dropping her blood-soaked dagger into the white snow. "What's going on?"

Five confused and wary faces stared back at her.

"It's me!"

"I'm sorry. Do we know you?" Dr. McKay asked.

"Yes! It's me! I've known all of you my whole li—" She stopped short, turning her head to the right and listening.

"Chewie?" Sheppard asked.

She glanced quickly over to Ronon and noticed that, he too, had heard what she had.

Sheppard's eyes shifted from Ronon over to her, then to the direction they were both staring. "What is it?"

"The hunter," she whispered.

They had eliminated all the drones but in the confusion of the skirmish and her excitement to see everyone, no one realized the hunter had escaped. Without another word, she bolted after it with the team chasing behind her.

The wind whipped at her face as she ran, stinging her chapped lips and flaying her lungs raw. She should have been winded, but the near promise of rescue had untapped some wellspring of energy from deep within her. 

Once she caught up with the Wraith, it was standing on the side of a sheer cliff face, looking up into the starlit sky undoubtedly in search of a dart to come retrieve it. Without a moment's hesitation, she ran up to it and tried to push it over the edge, but it was like trying to move a solid wall. The Wraith curled its hand into a fist, hooked her first in the jaw, then landed an uppercut at the base of her ribs. She doubled over in pain, head bowed, what little air she had completely knocked out of her chest. Slowly, it advanced until she could see her own reflection in the shine of its boots.

It clenched its feeding hand with anticipation. "Your time is up," it sneered. 

Mustering the last bit of strength and breath she possessed, she rose quickly from her kneeling position and headbutted the Wraith in the stomach. It fell to its knees. Capitalizing on the temporary height advantage, she launched herself into the air, and concentrated all of her force into a downward blow aimed straight at the hunter's face. She grabbed it by its long white hair, and in one swift motion drew another dagger from her thigh sheath and slit its throat. Dark black blood splattered from its neck all across her front.

Teetering a bit from hunger and exhaustion, she turned around to see the team staring at her once more, disbelief etched across their faces.

"Right…now did that uh…move seem a wee bit familiar to anyone else?" Dr. Beckett asked the others.

Sheppard nodded numbly and stepped cautiously toward her. "Ronon, do you know this girl?"

He pointed his blaster right at her head. "Who the hell are you?"

"What do you mean? It's me," she wheezed, still trying to recover her breath, "Eva."

"Eva?" He furrowed his brow and the muzzle of his gun dropped a fraction of an inch.

"Yes! Why are y'all being so weird?" she asked with irritation, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, mixing the metallic taste of Wraith blood with her own. "I know it's been a while but –"

"Are you saying we've met you before?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes!" she shouted. "You all know me!"

"I do not believe that we have ever met," Teyla said as calmly as she could, though her tone was somehow not entirely convincing when paired with the loaded P-90 in her grasp.

Eva pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and shook her head with exasperation.

"Hang on, kid. You said your name is Eva, right?" McKay confirmed. "Eva what?"

She thrust her arms down to her sides. "Eva Dex!" she declared, perplexed as to why they would be asking her this.

The whole team turned toward Ronon.

"That was my mother's name," he said lowly. The gun fell loose in his hand.

"Yeah," Eva spat, staring up at him. "You named me after her."

The team exchanged confused looks but Ronon's gaze was centered on her.

She blinked slowly, took a deep breath, and tried to maintain her composure. "Look, I am hungry, tired, covered in Wraith blood, and I think my rib is cracked. Can we please just go home?" she begged, tears clouding her vision.

"Home?" Sheppard repeated.

"Yes! Home! Atlantis!" She took a small step toward the team.

They aimed their weapons at her once more and she raised her open palms in response.

"What do you know about Atlantis?" Sheppard demanded.

"Dad, what's going on?!" she cried, looking pleadingly into her father's eyes.

Sheppard angled his head toward Ronon. "Whoa now. Did she just say 'dad?'"

"Who are you?" Ronon barked, his voice thick with frustration.

"I told you!" she yelled as loudly as her lungs would permit. "I'm Eva! Your daughter! What the hell is wrong with all of you?"


	2. The Specialist's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions come to a head as Ronon and his daughter Eva spar. Eva leaves to blow off some steam and gets herself into a predicament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'll add a small little content warning for two things. 1) A very brief mention of inappropriate behavior from an adult male toward a female child, 2) a short, but icky description of a cut on the hand.

**Two Months Earlier**

Eva roared with fury as she failed once more to land a hit and instead fell hard onto the sparring mat. Neck muscles tense and breathing heavy, she lay flat on her back with Ronon's bantos rod pressed across her throat.

"You need to maintain eye contact," he chastised as he extended a hand to help her up.

Bright hazel eyes identical to his own glared back at him with such ferocity, it caught him off guard. He wondered if that was the way he looked whenever he was angry. No wonder people avoided him.

"I was," she snarled, refusing his assistance and getting up on her own. She turned her back to him and crossed the gym to grab a bottle of water.

"Then we'll keep practicing."

"No." She made her way back toward him. "You need to change the way you teach me," she spat as she shoved the bantos rod to his chest.

"Eva – " he started.

"No! Your techniques and your strategies are all predicated upon principles of brute force and superior size!" 

He raised his eyebrows. The times Eva used polysyllabic words were generally few and far between; he supposed she was more like her mother than he thought.

"You think you're such an expert. You think you know what you're doing because you fight Wraith and you've trained marines and—and airmen, and entire task forces but you know what?" she shouted. "I'm not some 6-foot tall man! I don't weigh 210 pounds of pure muscle!" Quick and shallow breaths pulsed in her chest. "I'm small. In a battle of size and strength, I will always lose."

It pained him to admit it, but she had a point. His daughter took after him in so many ways, but in terms of physical build, they were polar opposites. At sixteen she hardly reached the height of his shoulders and though her frame was lean and sturdy, it was slight like her mother's. In all honesty, he had never consistently trained someone as small as her.

"I'm sick of losing!" she yelled, holding back tears of rage. "So you either need to start teaching me to turn my size into an advantage, or I won't spar with you anymore!" She stormed out of the room. If the pneumatic door hadn't closed automatically behind her, she surely would have slammed it.

He flung both sets of bantos rods to the floor and exhaled forcefully, wiping his damp brow with the back of his hand. This whole teenage thing was getting old: the lying, the mood swings, the defiance. It all made him miss the little girl she used to be; the one who would climb onto his lap and fall asleep during long puddle jumper rides, who begged him for a pet rabbit until he finally gave in, who sat still for six hours straight while he twisted her hair into dreadlocks only to find her on the floor of the bathroom cutting them out with his straight-edge razor three weeks later. This teenage girl bullshit even made him miss her toddler tantrums – and as a hot-blooded half-Satedan, could she throw a tantrum.

But she wasn't that little girl anymore. And that was precisely what worried him.

From the moment he met his wife, he noticed the way men looked at her. Truth be told, the jealousy that festered in the pit of his chest whenever he caught some airman, marine, or scientist's eyes lingering too long on her was what made him initially realize he was falling for her. Years later, despite their marriage and the child they had raised together, those unwanted looks never stopped. He was never able to accept it, but he eventually learned to ignore it. His wife was a grown woman, after all, and he trusted her.

What he could never ignore, though, was when those lustful eyes turned their gaze toward his daughter. He noticed it for the first time when she was twelve.

_Twelve_.

How he hadn't murdered anyone yet was beyond him.

He and Eva had always sparred together. As soon as she could stand on two legs, he brought her to the gym with him; he figured any individual born in a galaxy still threatened by the Wraith needed to know how to adequately defend him- or herself. But the first time he caught a man's eyes feasting on her childish frame as she walked past, he knew that no amount of regular training would be enough for her. From that day forward, he knew that going easy on her would do her no favors.

He couldn't afford to have her stop sparring with him.

* * *

Just once. Just once she wished she could get the upper hand and show him what it felt like to be tossed around like a ragdoll. But no. He wanted her to fail. He wanted her to fail so that he could feel secure in his status as the macho specialist in all things combat. No, sir. He couldn't have a little girl like her whoop his ass. Definitely not. He couldn't even give her that small victory. And Ancestors forbid he actually listen to her and take some criticism. He treated her like a child in every other aspect of her life. Why should the sparring room be any different? It made no sense.

She wanted desperately to hit something – or preferably someone – but with her father likely still loitering in the gym, that left both sparring and boxing out of the question. Shooting something would have to do.

She paced through the city's corridors, still fuming as sweat continued to bead across her brow and down her back from getting her ass handed to her. Before long, she was at the entrance of the firing range.

"Daddy, look!" the familiar and excited voice of a young girl beckoned from inside.

What was it, Take Your Child to the Firing Range Day?

She debated whether it was even worth it. It was summer; she had already taken her final exams, which meant no one could force her to interact one-room schoolhouse-style with any children on base for the next two months. Maybe she should just bottle up the anger, store it for her next sparring session with her father, and find a private balcony where she could gaze morosely at the ocean for the next two hours like a normal teenager.

Or she could shoot something.

With a sigh of resignation, she braced herself for the social interaction, and walked in. The second she entered, a young Airforce recruit stood to block her path.

"Whoa. You can't be in here," he said.

She shook her head. "I come in here all the time," she argued.

"Yeah. With your father. Minors under 18 must be accompanied at all times by an adult in the firing range." He gestured over to where Colonel Lorne was demonstrating how to fire an Ancient stunner weapon to two of his older daughters, as if that were proof. Well _they_ needed supervision, sure. They were the go to the mainland and pick flowers, learn every Athosian ritual chant by heart, show off all the pretty clothes they got from Earth kind of girls. They wouldn't know the difference between a P90 and a Beretta pistol if one shot 'em in the leg.

Before she yelled at the sergeant and hit him with a "Do you know who you're talking to?" something her mother always said echoed in her mind. _You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar._

So she gave him a shrug of the shoulder and flipped her long ponytail to the side. "You're an adult, aren't you airman?" she asked, looking up at him from under thick, dark lashes.

He squinted down at her.

Lowering her voice, she took a step toward him, close enough that she could smell the tobacco on his breath. "You could stand behind me, show me where to put my hands…" she tilted her head and lightly touched his wrist, "how to cock the gun…"

He crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "Nice try."

She let out a primal growl. Vinegar it was.

"Fine," she shrugged. "Then I guess I'll have to tell my dad who I got that pack of cigarettes from last week."

"What cigarettes?"

"The ones hiding under my bed," she revealed. "You smoke, don't you, airman?"

He glared at her.

"If my parents were to…somehow find those…" she looked up to the ceiling and innocently scratched the back of her head, "I'd have to tell them who I got them from…and _how_." She brought her eyes back to his and let him have a moment with his imagination.

"Miss Dex –"

"And you know my father," she continued. "He's more of an act first ask questions later kind of guy."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Full protective gear," he finally conceded. "You make one tiny error, one minor lapse in firearm safety and I will call security to get you out of here faster than you can say Smith and Wesson. No machine guns. Handguns only."

She licked her lips, then winked. "Deal." She headed to the back of the range and grabbed a pair of plastic goggles, some earplugs, and a set of noise-cancelling earmuffs.

"Good job, Liv," Lorne said, complimenting his eldest daughter with a pat on the back.

Eva looked over her shoulder and saw, from the still smoldering singe marks on the bottom corner of the paper, that Olivia had managed to just barely graze the target with a stun blast. She scoffed but had the decency to quickly disguise it as a cough.

Olivia glanced back at the sound and locked eyes with Eva. "Not really," she shrugged. "I barely made it onto the target. I'm not as good as Eva. I bet she could shoot it like right in the head."

Lorne and his younger daughter, Charlotte, turned to face her, as well.

"Eva," he greeted with a smile. "I was just showing the girls some self-defense." He then realized she was alone and narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "Where's your dad?"

"He's on his way," Eva lied with a smile.

"Here, you're really good at shooting," Olivia said, extending the handle of the stunner within Eva's reach. "Why don't you give it a go and show us how to do it?"

Eva gritted her teeth. "You know I don't have the gene to use those, Olivia," she replied, trying to keep her tone anywhere north of murderous.

"Oh crap, that's right. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry," she apologized with would-be innocence.

"Liv, can I try now?" Charlotte requested.

Olivia handed the stunner to her younger sister. "Be careful."

Lorne crouched a bit to get closer to Charlotte's level and Eva turned back to the wall of firearms to pick her weapon of choice.

"Now all you have to do is aim where you want the blast to go," Lorne explained. "Concentrate hard. This doesn't have a trigger so when you're ready, think 'shoot.'"

One of the new MP7s caught her eye. She wished she could try it out, but the guard had stipulated "handguns only." The Heckler and Koch 9mm would have to do for the day.

The sound of a stun blast whirred behind her.

"Look!" Charlotte exclaimed. "I did it! I shot it! Liv, did you see? I did it!"

Eva rolled her eyes and stuffed the orange foam plugs into her ears. Sweet silence. Honestly, the reprieve the earplugs offered from the chattering of the other girls was almost worth more to her than any protection against potential hearing damage.

Mindful to employ every piece of firearm safety she knew, she put on her glasses, and checked the gun to make sure it was unloaded. She then grabbed some ammunition and found a spot on the range. After verifying that no one was behind the paper target, she carefully loaded her gun, took her stance, aimed, and fired a round straight into the center of the target. She fired another. Then another. They all landed dead center – bullseye.

She continued shooting, unloading, and reloading for several minutes, every shot as accurate as the last, every minor frustration exploding with each discharged shell.

Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She lowered her gun and pointed it downrange, then glanced over to see Olivia and Charlotte jumping up and down with enthusiasm, hive fiving each other. Eva rolled her eyes again and brought her finger over the trigger. Suddenly, pain seared through her hand and her bullet subsequently missed its target.

"Son of a –" she hissed, nearly dropping the gun to the floor. After setting it down, she examined her hand to discover the webbing between her thumb and index finger had been torn apart by the slide of the gun. Thick blood gushed from the open laceration. She peered back into the slide of the pistol, her stomach lurching once she saw the piece of ragged skin lodged inside it. "Airman," she called.

Within a second, the officer was at her side.

She pulled the earmuffs off her head with her uninjured left hand. "I got a slide cut," she admitted, voice firm. She looked just over his shoulder to avoid his disapproving gaze. "My hand is too slippery from the blood; I can't unload or clean the gun safely," she informed him.

"Dammit," he snapped. "This is exactly why –"

"I know," she retorted, holding her hand up high to reduce the flow of blood. "It was a mistake."

The airman didn't bother to utter another word. He merely pointed to the door and glared at her.

She curled her lip, pulled her safety glasses off, and yanked out her earplugs, throwing them to the floor. "I'm gone."


	3. Brave Little Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva seeks medical attention and discovers an opportunity. Keller finds some discrepancies in the infirmary's inventory and discusses her suspicions with Ronon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a bloody hand injury and needles/stitches.
> 
> Also, there's a little scene between Ronon and Keller in this chapter and I know a lot of people love that ship (hell, I like it too!), but my fic will not be shipping them. Sorry! Hope you still enjoy.

She tried to staunch the flow of blood from her hand as she made her way to the medical wing, but found that her spandex workout clothes didn't offer much in the way of liquid absorption. By the time she arrived at the infirmary, with her shirt and right forearm smeared in red, her left hand precautionarily cupped under her elbow to catch any drops that might trickle down and fall to the floor, she was a rather ghastly sight to behold.

At midday, the infirmary was bustling with staff, but relatively low on patients. Plenty of nurses or doctors could have helped her, but of course it was Dr. Keller who noticed her first. Eva performed an about face and hoped she hadn't been spotted.

It wasn't that Eva didn't like Dr. Keller. In fact, she had always preferred the Chief Medical Officer over all the other doctors on Atlantis, and not just for her expertise. Dr. Keller was the only doctor she had known her entire life; according to her parents, she had actually been the one – in the middle of a Wraith siege, no less – who delivered her. But today of all days, she wished for any other medic to tend to her. Though hers wasn't a gunshot wound, it probably still qualified as a firearm-related injury, which according to base protocol meant that a formal incident report would need to be filed. Since there was no bullet actually involved, another less-experienced or less-dedicated medical professional would maybe (intentionally or not) skip that step, but not Keller. You don't become CMO of a largescale expedition by leavings your Ts uncrossed, after all.

"Eva?" Dr. Keller asked with surprise from behind her. "What are you doing here?"

Eva turned around and laid eyes on the doctor. "I…uh…I cut my hand," she was forced to answer.

Keller's gaze jumped to the wound, then followed the rivulets of blood dripping down Eva's arm. "Oh geez," she breathed as she set down the box of medical supplies she had been carrying. "Okay. Well, let's take a look at it, then. Hop up here," she indicated, patting the edge of the nearest bed, next to the medical freezer.

Eva hoisted herself up and held her hand out for the doctor to examine.

"How did this happen?" she inquired as she took the girl's hand into her own to inspect it.

"I was sharpening my knife and my hand slipped," she supplied.

Keller narrowed her eyes, sighed, and straightened her back. "Sharpening a knife?" 

Eva nodded.

"All right. We'll clean this up and then see if you need stitches." She reached for a bottle of saline solution and began to rinse the jagged laceration. The initial sting made Eva hiss in pain and she involuntarily jerked her arm away. "Sorry," Keller said with a wince as she took Eva's wrist again to continue washing out the cut. "At least you won't fight me on numbing you up a little before I start your sutures like your dad always does." She grabbed the anesthetic. "Where is he?" she asked, sneaking a quick glimpse up at Eva's face. "I usually prefer to treat my pediatric patients with a parent present."

Eva shrugged.

The doctor raised two chiding eyebrows at her.

"I haven't told him," she finally admitted. "We sparred this morning and then we got in a fight so I left. I guess I was just a little angry and not really paying attention while I was sharpening the blade."

"Sparring," Keller sighed. "I see… You at least get a few good licks in?" she asked with a smirk.

Eva tried to hide her smile. "A few," she grinned in spite of herself.

"Well if you ask me, I think your dad needs to start easing up on you a little. You've been in here quite a bit recently."

Her head fell and she looked away from Dr. Keller, down at her knees.

Keller picked up a hooked needle and thread and began to sew the damaged skin back together. "Okay…good news is, it's only gonna take about three stitches."

Eva nodded.

"And what about your mom? She couldn't come here with you?"

"She's been on Earth for the past week," Eva revealed. "My cousin is graduating from her PhD program."

"Your cousin?"

She nodded again. "Allie."

"Why didn't you go?" Keller asked, tying up her first stitch.

"Finals."

Keller nodded in understanding. "And how old is your cousin?"

"24."

"Wow," Keller breathed. "That's pretty young to already have a doctorate."

"Yeah." Eva bit the inside of her cheek. "She's like a genius or something."

"What's her degree in?"

"Linguistics," Eva answered, then made eye contact with the doctor. "Just like my mom."

Keller stared back at her for a moment, but thereafter remained suspiciously quiet until she finished suturing the wound. "I'm gonna go grab a bandage and some antibiotic ointment for you, and then I'll be right back," Keller finally said. "Should I grab a lollipop, too, for being such a brave patient?" she joked.

"Very funny," Eva called to her as she walked away.

She glanced aimlessly about the room as she waited for Keller to return. She didn't much like to wait. She peeked inside the box of medical supplies the doctor had set down earlier. Inside there were a few bags of saline, some latex gloves, and several packages of syringes. Then, a nurse passed by and deposited a blue container into the freezer to the left of Eva's bed. Another, tablet in hand, started sifting through a shelf of supplies and making notes.

Keller returned after a few moments with the bandage, ointment, and a red lollipop. She evidently remembered the red ones had always been Eva's favorite when she was younger.

Eva glanced down at the sucker and raised her eyebrows. "Seriously?" 

Keller shrugged. "I'll just leave it right here," she said with feigned innocence as she set it on the silver tray next to the bed. "Maybe someone will take it, maybe they won't."

Eva smiled, rolled her eyes, and shook her head.

"Dr. Keller!" a panicked voice from the opposite end of the infirmary summoned. "We've got a patient coming in with an electrical burn!"

By the time the nurse had finished her sentence, Keller was already halfway across the room. "You know the deal!" she shouted back to Eva. "Keep it clean. Stitches will dissolve on their own."

Eva put the bandage on herself, gathered her things, and stood up to leave, but the blue container from behind the frosted glass of the infirmary freezer caught her eye once more. She looked over her shoulder to observe the minor chaos on the other side, then got closer so she could read the label.

_ATA Gene Therapy Batch No. 463_

* * *

"What's up, doc?" Ronon asked, the stench of burnt flesh and antiseptic assailing his nostrils as he ducked through the infirmary doors.

Standing near the bedside of a heavily-bandaged and unconscious patient, Dr. Keller looked up from her tablet. "Shouldn't you be munching on a carrot while you say that?" she quipped.

He wrinkled his brow. "What?"

"Never mind," she muttered with a dismissive shake of her head. "Thanks for making it down here so quickly."

"Yeah. You wanted to talk?" he asked as he leaned against an unoccupied gurney.

"Yep." Keller took a deep breath. "Eva was in here earlier. About three hours ago."

He squinted and gestured to his nose. "Is one of those damn piercings infected again? I told her not to –"

"It was a cut on the hand," Keller interrupted. "A pretty nasty one, actually."

"A cut on the hand?" he repeated. "She didn't mention anything to me."

Keller glanced to the side, momentarily avoiding his gaze.

Ronon narrowed his eyes. Keller had her _break difficult news to a patient_ look on her face. "What?" he prodded.

"She told me she got it from sharpening a knife, but…" She pursed her lips, hesitating.

"But what?"

"It was on her right hand." Keller mimicked the action of sharpening a knife. "If she's righthanded –"

"Then the cut should be on her left hand," Ronon finished for her. He inhaled deeply and tugged at the edges of his hair, then exhaled slowly. "She lied."

Keller tilted her head. "Ronon, she smelled like gunpowder."

He stared at her, eyes wide with surprise.

"It's an injury I see a lot with younger recruits or with scientists first learning how to use their newly-issued sidearms. I think she was firing a gun and her hand got caught in it."

He shook his head. "Eva knows better than that." He had trained her better than that. Slide cuts happened from improper grip; Eva's form was usually flawless, even with firearms that most would deem too large or heavy for a girl as petite as her.

"Maybe she got distracted," she shrugged, "lost her focus."

Ronon emitted a low groan and brought a hand to his face.

"Now, I haven't seen any gunshot wounds today and Eva seemed pretty calm, so I don't think she hurt anyone else. My best guess is that this somehow happened in the firing range." She paused. "That said, it was still technically a firearm-related injury and for safety reasons, I should report it."

Ronon studied her expression, reading into the pause in their conversation. He crossed his arms. "But?"

"But… there's actually a bigger issue I need to let you know about."

A wave of intense heat rolled through his entire body and his stomach somersaulted while his mind jumped to conclusions and worst-case scenarios. What urgent medical matter would the father of a rebellious teenage girl need to know?

"Is my daughter pregnant?" he finally dared to ask.

Keller's eyes widened and she gave her head a rough jerk. "No! No no no," she quickly reassured him.

He let his head fall back with relief. "You're killin' me, doc!" he growled.

"Sorry," she winced. "No, it's not anything like that."

Heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush, he lifted his head back up and refocused on the doctor.

"Eva came in while we were doing inventory today," Keller explained, "and when we went over our stock numbers about half an hour ago, everything seemed to be in order except for two things."

Ronon raised an eyebrow.

"We're missing a package of newly-delivered syringes, which in and of itself is not a huge concern, except… one of the vials of the ATA therapy is also unaccounted for," she revealed.

"The Ancient gene?" he clarified.

She nodded. "So, either we counted wrong, it's lost, or…"

"Or someone stole it."


	4. When an Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon confronts Eva about the missing vial of the Ancient Gene Therapy and a long-held family secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! So this is one of the few chapters that relies on something from my previous fics, which are not here but on FFN. Therefore, I suppose it has a spoiler that may ruin a pretty big surprise from those fics (kind of weird to warn about a spoiler from your own work...). 
> 
> This will be the only big piece of information from those stories that, if you haven't read them, may feel a little out-of-the-blue or out of left field. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thank you to those of you who have left kudos. You're too kind. :)

Ronon barged through the automatic doors of their quarters to find Eva spread out and lounging on the couch, lazily eating a bag of chips. He strode right up to her and produced a small engraved stone from his pocket. "Touch this," he ordered.

"Why?" she replied, brows raised. She then crumpled the bag into a ball and forcefully threw it toward the kitchen trashcan. It missed and landed in a mess of crumbs.

"Because the infirmary is missing a vial of the Ancient gene therapy and I think I know where it went."

She sat up straight. "You think I stole it?" she hissed.

"Touch the damn device." He urged it forward.

She crossed her arms across her chest in defiance. "No."

"Fine. You don't touch it, then you admit you're guilty."

"Or maybe I'm afraid of naturally already having the gene and being blamed for a crime I didn't commit."

"You don't have the gene."

"How do you know?" she snapped.

"We all know! When you were eight years old, Sheppard let you play with the controls on a puddle jumper and they didn't respond to your touch. You then sat in my lap in the back of that jumper and cried for two hours straight until we landed." He paused. "You don't have the gene," he deliberately enunciated.

"Maybe it's one of those genes that gets switched on later in life," she argued. "It's called gene activation. Epigenetics. Look it up."

"Says the girl who got a D in biology last year," Ronon retorted.

"Only because my tutor didn't like me – "

"Wonder why."

"—not because I didn't know my stuff."

"You don't have the gene," he insisted. "I don't have it and your mother doesn't have it. They gave your mom the injection twenty years ago when she first got here and it didn't take."

"Then what's the point of having me touch it? Let's say I did steal it," she held up her index finger, "which I didn't – if the gene therapy didn't work for Mom then it probably wouldn't work for me either. So even if I touch that thing, it won't activate."

"Then you've got nothing to be afraid of," he smirked.

"And you wouldn't have your answer." She raised an eyebrow and re-crossed her arms over her chest.

They glared at each other for a spell, daughter equally as stubborn as her father, caught in a silent standoff.

"Fine," he growled, turning his back to her as he made his way to leave. "And don't think we're not gonna talk about how you got that cut on your hand later tonight." Just as the doors opened in front of him and he feigned his departure, he pivoted quickly and tossed the device directly at Eva's head.

Her subconscious reflexes kicked in and she caught the device to block it from hitting her in the face. As soon as the smooth stone touched the skin of her palm, it glowed bright blue.

"Dammit, Eva!" he shouted, closing the gap between them once more. "The hell were you thinking?"

"Who… cares?!" she yelled as she hurled the device back at him. "They can make more. I wasn't hurting anyone. It's not like anyone misses it."

"We don't steal in this family!" he bellowed.

"Whatever," she mumbled. "I don't see why you think it's such a big deal."

"No daughter of mine is going to be a thief." He didn't know where they had gone wrong, didn't understand how in just a few years, she had gone from being his little shadow to...this.

"Look, no one beyond us needs to find out," she bartered, raising her eyebrows.

"General Carter's gonna find out," he threatened.

"Why? You gonna snitch?"

"No. You're gonna confess."

"No way! Why would I confess? I'll just get in trouble! She'll take away my security clearance!"

"You'll confess because it's the honorable thing to do."

"Honorable? Or stupid?" she asked. "You gonna make me? You gonna sling me over your shoulder like you did when I was a kid and –"

"You are a kid," he interrupted between gritted teeth.

"You told me that on Sateda sixteen is when you come of age!" She clutched to the silver pendant of the necklace she wore every day. "On Sateda if you're sixteen, you're considered an adult."

"You wanna be treated like an adult? You wanna be treated like a Satedan?" he snarled, advancing on her. "Then start acting like one. True Satedans aren't thieves. And no. I'm not gonna drag you to Carter's office. You're gonna go there on your own, admit what you did, and apologize to her. And then, you're gonna go to the infirmary and apologize to Dr. Keller…like an adult."

"No, I'm not!" she protested.

"You're old enough that I shouldn't have to explain to you why stealing is wrong."

Eva leaned back and put her hands on her hips. "So let me get this straight," she said, "stealing is wrong, but it's okay to lie?"

Ronon's eyebrows pinched together at the abrupt change in topic. "The hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Allie, you hypocrite!"

He took a step back and a chill ran through him, as though someone had dropped a bucket of ice water over his head. Did she know?

"I'm talking about how you and Mom have lied to me my entire life! How I grew up believing that Allie was my cousin, when she's really my sister!" she screamed.

Ronon swallowed uncomfortably and stared at her, tacitly wishing his wife were by his side to help explain.

"I've grown up my whole life on this base alone!"

"Eva, you're not –"

"Imagine how I felt when I found out I'm not actually an only child. That I have a sister I could have grown up with!" By this point, she was shaking with rage.

His heart beat quickly. "How long have you known?" he asked her, his voice lowered to just above a whisper.

"Two years," she spat. "I overheard you and Mom talking about it one night."

He shook his head and looked at the ground, lost for words. "Eva…pup..."

"Why did you keep this from me?" Tears had begun to form in her eyes. "Why did you lie to me?"

"Eva, your cousin –"

"My sister!" She clenched her jaw. "Stop…fucking…lying."

"Half-sister," he corrected.

Eva swallowed back tears and rolled her eyes.

"Allie doesn't know, which is why you didn't know."

"She's a 25-year-old genius who looks exactly like Mom. There's no way she hasn't figured it out."

"We're done discussing this," Ronon declared. "I get it. You're upset –"

"No! Just because you don't wanna talk about it anymore doesn't mean we're done!"

"This is something we should talk about when your mother gets –"

"But –"

"No!" he shouted over her, gripping her tightly by the arms. "You listen to me! We are done talking about this. You're trying to change the subject –"

"Great!" she sniffed. "If we're done, then I'm leaving." Eva pushed past him with a growl and stormed out of their quarters.

"You better be going to Carter's office!" he called to her as she marched out into the hallway.

"I'm going wherever the fuck I want!" she shrieked back.


	5. Code Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon's wife, Dr. Emma Rogers, comes back to Atlantis after spending some time with her family back on Earth. Ronon describes his earlier fight with their daughter and reveals that Eva now knows Emma's deepest secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter mentions some information from my previous fics. No need to read them (on FFN) if you're not feeling it. All you need to know is that Allie is Emma's daughter from a previous (and bad) relationship and that Allie was raised by Emma's older sister, believing that Emma was her aunt and that Eva was her cousin. Allie is about 8/9 years older than Eva.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this fic so far! Let me know what you think. :)

"Well… it doesn't look like y'all burned the place down."

At the sound of her voice, Southern twang thickened by the week she had just spent with her family, Ronon smiled. He stepped inside from the rain-soaked balcony and into the main living area to lay eyes on his wife who stood at the threshold of the door, suitcases in both of her hands. Her gaze shifted from a critical surveillance of their quarters for visible signs of damage or neglect over to him. She dropped her suitcases and within the length of a breath, was in his arms. They kissed briefly, held each other close and for the first time in a week, he felt whole again.

Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers. "Emma," he groaned, "never...leave...again."

She laughed quietly, the warmth of her breath wafting across his chest. "Why? What happened?" she asked with gentle amusement. They pulled apart and she stroked the birthmarks that dotted his cheekbone with her thumb.

Ronon gave a dismissive shake of the head.

"What?" Emma persisted. "What's wrong?"

"It's Eva," he revealed.

Her hand froze against his cheek and worry suddenly traced the lines of her face. "Is she okay?"

He nodded, blinking slowly. "You might wanna sit down for this one."

"Ronon, what happened?" She ignored his suggestion and remained standing.

He scratched uncomfortably at the base of one of his dreads and decided to go straight to the point. "She stole a vial of the Ancient gene from the infirmary and injected herself with it," he took a deep breath, "and it took."

Emma's jaw dropped.

"I confronted her about it and somehow that turned into a fight about Allie."

"About Allie?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

He nodded and looked into his wife's eyes. "She knows, Emma."

She dug her hand into her forehead and looked fixedly at the floor.

"She's pissed. She feels betrayed, lied to…"

Emma glanced back up at him. "Where is she now?"

Ronon shrugged. "Probably blowing off steam somewhere."

Emma furrowed her brow in concern as she looked down at her watch. "Did she say when she would be back?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied with sarcasm. "She told me she'd be back around 10:30 in between the 'fuck off' and the 'I hate you.'"

"It's just…it's nearly her curfew," Emma observed.

"She'll be back," Ronon assured her as he ran his hand up and down the side of her torso, savoring the curve between her waist and hip.

She lightly traced the pattern of triangles along his left forearm with her fingernails. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that alone," she whispered as she stared intently at the tattoo.

He shrugged a shoulder and shook his head.

"I'll talk to her tonight."

"Wait till tomorrow. The yelling will keep up the neighbors," he smirked.

Emma peered up at him and allowed herself a reluctant smile.

"How was the graduation?" he asked in an effort to change the subject to something more light-hearted.

"It was nice," she answered. "She graduated with honors…top of her class."

"She must take after her mother."

"My sister must have raised her right," she countered.

He gave her a rueful smile. "You're too modest. You know she gets that from you."

"It's not modesty," she insisted and shook her head forcefully. "If I start to see myself in Allie, then I also start to see her father in her. And I don't want to see that." Her eyes were wide, lips pressed together in a tight line.

He sighed; the change in conversation hadn't quite gone where he intended. He started to brush a thick, errant lock of dark red hair from her face but as it caught the light, he took it between his thumb and index finger, narrowed his eyes and inspected it closely. "What did you do?" he murmured.

She pulled the strand from his grasp, then nervously tucked it back into her braid. "I didn't like the gray that was starting to come in," she quietly admitted. "So…I may have had my hair dyed while I was back in Texas."

"I thought we were supposed to grow old together," he teased.

Her expression finally lifted. "We both know you were always gonna get there first," she smirked. "And I plan on holding onto the five years between us for as long as possible. Now help me with my bags, old man. Unless you're afraid you'll break a hip." She smacked him swiftly on the backside, her green eyes glittering with mischief, before she headed toward their bedroom.

He picked up her luggage and followed, and though he was only a few paces behind her, Emma was already sitting on the edge of their bed, releasing her hair from its neat side plait by the time he stepped into their room.

She raked her fingers through the long tresses, shaking out the kinks. "You sure we shouldn't go looking for Eva?" she asked.

"She's fine. She just needs some space." He took her hand in his, pulled her up to her feet and into a tight embrace and spoke quietly into her ear. "You get some rest and I'll wait up –"

The city-wide intercom crackled overhead. "General Carter, Doctor Keller, and Ronon Dex to the jumper bay. Carter, Keller, and Ronon Dex to the jumper bay. We have a situation."

Emma leaned back and raised her eyebrows at him. "And that's what? Coincidence?"

* * *

"Can we locate her by tracking her subcutaneous implant?" General Carter asked.

Dr. Keller was crouched down and tending to a slumped over scientist on the floor of the jumper bay. "I don't see why not," she answered, pulling her penlight from her pocket and shining it into the scientist's pupils.

"What happened in here?" Emma asked with alarm as she and Ronon arrived.

In addition to the scientist huddled in a heap next to Keller, another man stood silent in the corner with an ice pack pressed to his forehead. There were signs of a struggle and glass from a shattered tablet littered the ground.

Carter turned around to address them. "We're still putting some of the pieces together," she started, "but it looks like Eva got the drop on Finnegan and Kapur here, and stole one of the puddle jumpers."

"She what?" Emma hissed in disbelief.

"Are you tracking it?" Ronon urgently asked.

"That's what we're trying to figure out right now," Carter answered.

"Guess that answers our gene therapy inventory problem," Keller muttered as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around the scientist's upper arm.

"Look, I'll go after her," Ronon offered. "Just get me a pilot."

Carter nodded in agreement but her radio activated with an incoming message before she could get her request out.

"General Carter," a panicked voice said.

"I'm dealing with a bit of situation right now," she spoke into her earpiece. "Can this wait?"

"Ma'am, we've just detected a Wraith cruiser in orbit around one of our moons," the voice informed her.

As far as they knew, the location of Atlantis was a secret to the Wraith. Ronon's pulse began to rush and his stomach hardened to stone. If the Wraith could find the city, they could easily find his daughter out there, completely alone in an aircraft she had no idea how to operate.

"Cloak the city," Carter ordered.

"Already done, ma'am."

"Good. I'll be there in a minute," she said. "Get Sheppard in the chair. Ready the jumper defense teams and send them to the bay. Prepare the Hammond for launch. Everyone else to defense stations." She turned to Ronon and Emma. "I'm sorry, but I can only spare one team for you."

"That's all I need," Ronon nodded.

"If we do send the Hammond into orbit, I'll have them scan for Eva's implant and beam her aboard. Until then, and unless you hear otherwise from me, assume that you need to continue looking for her." Carter left in a sprint toward the direction of the control tower.

"Code orange. Jumper defense teams to primary jumper bay," the intercom overhead boomed. "Regular personnel to defense stations. Hammond personnel, prepare for launch. Repeat, code orange."

Emma turned to Ronon. "I'm going with you," she declared.

"Emma – "

"No," she interrupted. "I will not wait here worrying myself to death while you go out looking for her."

"If something happens to you…"

"Have I ever been a liability on a mission with you?" She stared up at him, her eyes alight with persistence.

"No," he admitted.

Emma was a quick thinker and a decent markswoman; she had watched his back and saved his life several times on expeditions when they were younger and he made sure to always return the favor. But that was in the past. Since Eva's birth, with the fear of loss always lingering in the back of their minds, they purposefully limited their joint missions. Ronon refused to let Eva be orphaned like he had been.

"I'm going with you," Emma repeated in a hushed voice, bringing her hand to his cheek.

He nodded. "Head to the armory and get ready. Meet me back here."


	6. Mud on Her Knees and Flowers in Her Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva tries to fly a stolen Puddle Jumper to the mainland, but is hindered by both inexperience and adverse weather conditions. While Ronon and a small team go looking for her, he can't help but think of her as his little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a such a special place in my heart for the flashback in this chapter. It's one of the first bits I wrote for this fic and the primary inspiration for the whole Eva/Ronon dynamic. I wanted to show how close they once were and how special of a bond they once had with each other. I hope you all like it as much as I do. 
> 
> CW for a description of a finger dislocation.
> 
> What do you think so far? Hope you've been enjoying!

The ocean surrounding her was vast and black and the lights of the jumper reflected like little pinpoints against the murky waves as it flew past.

"Breathe," she whispered to herself. "Breathe. Don't think about crashing. You just have to make it to the mainland."

She wasn't sure why she did it. One minute she was arguing with her father, wishing she could be anywhere but cooped up in the city, and the next she was stunning the two scientists in the jumper bay. One of them had hit his head pretty hard on the way down…she did feel badly about that.

Taking off had been easy enough; it was just a matter of touching the controls and thinking "fly." But now that she had to navigate through the night - the dark, cold depth and sheer immensity of the ocean finally starting to register - she was beginning to question her rash decision making.

As the thought of the mainland popped into her mind, a map of the planet appeared on her heads-up display. Small red dots appeared across the screen, tracing the path from her jumper to the nearest section of the continent.

"100 kilometers," she read. "That's nothing. We'll be there in no time." She wasn't entirely certain what she would do once she reached the mainland, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Instead, she focused on the little red dots and continued on her trajectory toward land. "Just like Pacman," she whispered. "I assume…"

With the HUD masking the majority of the front window, she heard the raindrops before she saw them. At first, they sounded like little pebbles hitting the roof and sides of the jumper, but soon the rain picked up and those little drops quickly evolved into sheets of water that assailed the hull of the ship. She glanced down below and saw that the seas beneath her had become rough and choppy. Multiple strikes of lightning flashed in the distance and an instantaneous clap of thunder rumbled deep, as though it had emanated from her own chest.

"Shield," she immediately thought. The HUD displayed an image of a forcefield forming around the craft. Feeling safer, she let out a quiet breath of relief. "30 kilometers."

Though the rain no longer pelted the exterior of the jumper due to the protection of the shield, she could still view the lightning strikes and hear the thunder roll across the sea. The storm around her was worsening.

There was a beeping on the HUD and a small, red target blinked about 5 kilometers west of her position. Minimizing the display, she glanced out the window to see a tower of clouds, like smoke from an erupting volcano, illuminated by pure white light, blinding against the navy sky. Jellyfish tendrils of lightning erupted incessantly from the inside.

It was an electric storm.

She pulled the HUD back up. Only 15 kilometers to go. She stayed her course, urging the jumper along the route outlined on the map. As the distance remaining dropped to single digits, she squinted and tried to make out the coast of the mainland.

"Search lights," she thought. The jumper's high beams activated and pierced through the darkness. "It should be straight ahead," she murmured, comparing the HUD's map to the great ocean in front of her. She craned her head, looked to the east, and caught a glimpse of what she thought was a sandy beach. Unless she was reading the map incorrectly, if she followed its path, she would just end up in the middle of the ocean.

"Mainland," she thought harder, closing her eyes tightly. "Take me to the mainland." She opened her eyes, but the map in front of her remained unchanged. "Fine," she sighed, and the HUD disappeared. Ignoring its directions, she veered the aircraft to the east in search of the beach she thought she had seen. For several minutes, she flew without the assistance of the navigational system, but encountered nothing. The mainland continued to prove elusive.

Her chest tightened and her palms began to perspire as panicked thoughts raced through her mind. The mainland was nowhere to be found. Maybe the map was right the whole time and she had been wrong. It _was_ dark, after all. For all she knew, she was now flying in the total opposite direction.

A crack of lightning flashed in her vicinity. She jumped in her seat and yelped. This was foolish.

"Atlantis," she thought. The HUD made itself visible, but no destination appeared on the map. "Atlantis," she said out loud and with force, but there was nothing. "Home." Still nothing. "City of the Ancestors." Nothing again. "Shit," she hissed.

Her body heat rose and her back was sweating. She was lost. Desperately lost in the dark in the middle of a storm with no landmarks as far as the eye could see. Tears clouded her vision and her throat swelled. Just as she started to lose a grip on her composure, she saw it: large waves breaking against tall rocks planted deep into the sand. The coast of the mainland. Relief coursed through her veins as she lowered the ship's altitude.

It appeared that this particular portion of the landmass was primarily forest. She flew the jumper along the coast, searching for a clearing wide enough, smooth enough, and far enough away from the tempestuous waves for her to land.

"This'll have to do," she said as she discovered a small, pebbly clearing. She passed it once, then doubled back in a loop to attempt a landing. She had always heard that landing was much more difficult than taking off, but she hoped that in the puddle jumper, all she would have to do would be to think "land," and so she did. She chanted the word "land" over and over again in her head and visualized the jumper gliding smoothly to a stop against the bed of tiny pebbles. She tried to think back to the way Colonel Sheppard looked whenever he landed a jumper; he always made it seem so effortless. As the beach got closer, she realized that her mental chant of "land, land, land" had become verbal.

The ground approached with sudden rapidity and the HUD made itself visible once again, this time with flares of red blinking around its border and alarms blaring. The jumper made hard contact with the ground and slid, maintaining its momentum past sand, past boulders, past grass, until it crashed headfirst into the forest. Eva's skull slammed against the control panel in front of her and everything changed from red alerts and loud alarms to silent darkness.

* * *

"You my pilot?" Ronon asked the young captain who approached him.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "Captain Melanie Schmitz."

"And who are you?" he asked the man who had arrived with her.

"I'm um…I'm one of the new techs, sir," he replied. "I'll be tracking your daughter's subcutaneous transmitter," he explained. "I also have the Ancient gene in case I need to fly the other jumper back."

"Good," Ronon nodded, turning his back to his new team. "Let's go," he ordered.

"Is your wife on her way?" the captain asked as they boarded the ship together.

"She's not coming," he grunted as he took a seat. He knew she wanted to, he knew she wouldn't slow them down, but he couldn't risk losing his wife and, more significantly, he couldn't risk Eva losing her mother.

The captain closed the rear hatch, cloaked the jumper, and ascended through the jumper bay doors.

"Hm," the captain mused, squinting at the control panel and then through the windshield.

"What?" Ronon asked.

She shook her head. "The sensors are off," she informed him. "We're currently facing the West Pier head on," she motioned the direction with her hand, "but the compass on the HUD is saying that we're facing southwest."

"Why is it doing that?" Ronon asked.

"Nichols, are you having any trouble locating her transmitter?" the captain asked the scientist.

"No. It's sending out a clear signal. Looks like she's probably on the mainland," he answered.

"Then I'd say it's the storm, sir," the captain finally answered in an effort to address Ronon's earlier question. "The electrical current is messing with the ship's electromagnetic compass. Gimme a second." She turned the jumper around and they hovered midair, facing the North Pier while she fiddled with a few of the knobs and dials on the control panel.

"We're wasting time," Ronon growled.

"Just gimme another second."

"Every second we waste is one more second my daughter is prey to the Wraith."

"Look, I understand," the captain interrupted. "I'm a daddy's girl, myself. But we will end up wasting more time in the long run if I don't take the time now to manually recalibrate our sensors. If we intend on finding her as efficiently as possible, then I need to sort this out."

"Fine," he grunted. "Just…hurry up."

"Already done," she smiled as she flipped the ship around and they sped in the direction toward the mainland.

Inside the cabin no one spoke so it should have been silent, but the hail bombarding the outsides of the ship was deafening. The technician's tracking device emitted steady, high-pitched beeps that seemed to tick away every second they had left to find Eva before the Wraith did. Ronon restlessly spun his gun in his hand, staring at the map of the mainland on the HUD.

_"Eva," Ronon called. "Come here."_

_She turned her head over her shoulder to look over at him, picked one more flower from the tree and added it to the others in her hair. She skipped over to where he was and crouched to the ground just like him._

_He placed one hand on her small back and pointed to the earth with the other. "You see these prints?" Her peered sideways into her face as she studied them._

_She nodded._

_"What kind of tracks are they?" _

_"Rabbit?" The sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead cast a shadow on the little lines between her brows that betrayed her uncertainty._

_"You asking or you telling?" he said harshly._

_"Rabbit," she repeated with more confidence._

_"Good," he smiled. "How many?"_

_She scrunched her lips together and knelt so close to the ground that her nose almost touched the dirt. "Just one," she declared, having learned her lesson from earlier. She examined their surroundings. "Tree cover…bushes…" she thought out loud. "It's a momma rabbit."_

_He tried to hide his pride in her. "How do you know?"_

_"Because this," she started, standing up and walking to a large bush, "is her nest." She bent down again to grab a nearby stick, then lightly pushed up the grassy covering to reveal a litter of small furry kits. "Awwww," she cooed. "Can I have one, Dad?"_

_"Nope." He stood abruptly and took her by the hand to lead her away._

_"Please," she begged as she found a way to break free of his grasp and run back to the nest._

_He sighed and caught up to her again, this time gripping her harder by the wrist, and yanked her up. "Let's go," he prodded._

_"Can I at least hold one?" she asked with frustration as she leaned her entire weight against his arm to prevent him from heading in the opposite direction of the rabbits._

_"Nope," he repeated._

_"Why not?" She continued to try to squirm out of his grasp._

_"If you touch the kits, then the doe will think there's something wrong with them and will abandon the nest."_

_"Oh." She stopped in her tracks and stared down at the ground. "And they'll die?" she asked, looking up at Ronon._

_He nodded. "Whenever you're out here, you have to make sure you make the smallest impact possible."_

_"So that things don't die?"_

_He nodded. "So that things don't die," he echoed as he finally released his grip on her wrist._

_"But we kill things when we hunt…"_

_"There's a difference between accidentally killing something out of disregard and intentionally hunting something for food."_

_"So…it's okay to kill things on purpose but not on accident?" she wondered, furrowing her brow._

_Ronon got onto his knees so that their eyes were level; he placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "It is wrong to kill something for fun or for sport or for a selfish reason."_

_"Like wanting to hold a baby rabbit," she whispered to the ground in shame._

_He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted her face upward so that she was looking into his eyes again. "But sometimes we need to kill things to survive," he explained. "That's how life works."_

_"And then it's not wrong?"_

_It was Ronon's turn to look away. "That's a tough question, pup," he sighed. He glanced back at her, smiled, and secured one of her flowers into her braids._

_Just as he began to think how perfect she looked amidst the foliage, flowers, and little animals, there was a rustling in the nearby bushes. Ronon got to his feet and drew his blaster from its holster and pointed it toward the sound. Eva pulled out her small knife, hid behind her father like they had practiced before, and clutched to the back of his shirt. _

_More rustling and Ronon's finger tightened on the trigger until an antlered head popped up from behind the hedge and bounded away. He exhaled and lowered his gun. "Just a deer." _

_Eva sheathed her knife and peeked out from behind him. _

_"You wanna follow it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow._

_Without a word, she sprinted noiselessly in its direction and Ronon followed. They dodged through trees and boulders, pursuing the white tail as it flashed through a blur of dirt, bark and leaves. Eva was practically flying, nearly as agile and light on her feet as the deer itself, until her ankle made hard contact with a raised tree root and she hit the forest floor with grunt of pain. Ronon skidded to a halt and ran back to her. _

_Kneeling by her side, he picked her up and gingerly set her on a nearby boulder. "Are you hurt?" he asked as he hastily examined her._

_"My hand," she whimpered, holding it up between them._

_Ronon grimaced as soon as he saw it. "Your finger's dislocated." He took her injured hand in his own and Eva's eyes widened as she beheld her disfigured finger, bent perpendicular to the rest. "Don't look at it," Ronon ordered. "Look at me."_

_She brought her eyes to his and they were shining with tears, but she tried her best to keep them from falling. _

_"I'm going to pop it back into place," he told her, his voice level. "It's gonna hurt, but I need you to keep looking at me," he demanded. "Got it?"_

_She nodded, lip trembling. _

_"One, two," he popped her finger back into place and Eva let out a yelp, but didn't break eye contact, "three. That's it. We're done. All fixed," he said, rubbing her hand._

_"Can I look now?" she asked hesitantly._

_Ronon nodded._

_She looked down at her hand and flexed her fingers to test them all._

_"Anything else hurt? Your wrists? Ankles?"_

_She shook her head. "I'm okay," she whispered._

_Ronon stood and helped Eva, whose head was hanging low, to her feet. "What's wrong?" he asked._

_"We lost the deer," she lamented._

_Ronon laughed quietly. "We'll find another one," he reassured her, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him._

_As the sun set and their ride returned, Ronon and a very muddy Eva boarded the puddle jumper and claimed two seats in the rear compartment. The ship took flight and once it reached cruising altitude, Eva yawned._

_"You tired?" Ronon asked her._

_She nodded as she rubbed her eyes with a dusty hand._

_Ronon shifted her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. "Take a nap," he ordered, placing a hand on the side of her head and bringing it against his chest._

_She settled in against him and closed her eyes. "Daddy?" she said softly._

_"Hm?" he grunted._

_"I love you."_

_"I love you, too, pup," he replied as he planted a kiss on the top of her head._

_When the jumper landed back in Atlantis, he carried her limp, sleeping form back to their quarters and laid her, flowers in her hair and mud on her knees, in her bed._

A wave of nausea suddenly consumed him. When they found her – _if_ they found her – would he need to carry her back home once more? Would he be the one to lay her to rest, this time for good?

"Does that thing tell you anything about her health?" he blurted out, nodding his chin toward the tracking device.

"I'm afraid not," Nichols replied. "This type of tracker doesn't reveal anything about life signs. It will broadcast regardless of whether the person is alive, dead, unconscious…"

Ronon's stomach lurched again. "Can't you do anything about the turbulence?" he snapped at the captain.

"I'm doing the best I can with these winds," she answered with a shrug. "There's Dramamine in the first aid kit if you need it, sir."

He leapt out of his chair, headed to the rear, and paced back and forth, still spinning his gun in his hand.

"Halfway there," the captain quietly announced.


	7. Swept Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and the the team find Eva, but the Wraith Cruiser has detected their location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos! You rock. Hope you enjoy this next one. What do you think so far? How are we liking Dad-Ronon?

It was the smell of smoke – the kind of metallic, alkaline fumes indicative of an electrical fire – that eventually roused her. Eva tried to lift her head but the pain was too severe; it felt like it had been split in half and her neck was too stiff to move. Finally managing to crack open one eyelid, she took in the blurry, blue and yellow glow of the cockpit of a puddle jumper.

Why the hell was she in a puddle jumper? And in the driver's seat, no less?

Using every bit of strength she possessed, she worked to raise herself off the control panel. The smoke filled her lungs and she coughed, rattling the already jostled contents of her skull. She groaned in pain and brought a hand to her forehead.

Glancing around her, she located the source of the smoke: the crystal housing in the rear compartment was black and scorched.

"Rear hatch," she muttered, trying to recall which control released the back door. She stared blankly, the control panel swimming in front of her, but had no idea which button or lever to push. Eventually she gave up trying to remember and started pressing buttons at random.

First button and the drive pods engaged with a defective groan.

Second button and the HUD crackled overhead.

Third button and nothing happened.

After trying several more levers, the rear hatch finally opened.

Grateful for the clean, fresh air – even though it was pouring rain – Eva stumbled out of the jumper and collapsed against the trunk of a nearby tree.

* * *

"Eva?!" a familiar voice cried out from the distance. "Eva!"

She squinted through swollen eyelids to see a large figure running toward her. Too heavy to keep open, her lids fell again. With a squish of wet leaves, the man knelt in front of her and brought his warm hand to her cheek.

"You're freezing," he said as he grabbed both of her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Give me your jacket!" he called to someone else with him.

A warm coat was draped over her shoulders and he held her to his chest as she shivered.

"The hell were you thinking?" he hissed, vigorously rubbing her back in an attempt to heat her up.

"Where am I?" she spoke into the fabric of his shirt.

There was a pause. "What?"

She looked up into the face of the person holding her. "Dad?"

"Yeah, pup. It's me." His voice softened slightly.

She looked at her surroundings from the safety of her father's embrace. "Where are we?" 

"She must have hit her head," a female voice nearby said.

"We're on the mainland," Ronon explained to her. "But we're gonna get you home now."

"How did I get here?" she whispered. "Did you take me here?"

"Eva, you stole a puddle jumper and flew out here on your own," her father replied, some of the harshness returning to his voice.

"We gotta get going," the female voice urged.

Ronon held her by the forearms and looked her up and down so he could appraise her physical state. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," she whimpered.

He braced her back and she took his arm as they walked together to another jumper.

"Thank you," Eva said.

Ronon looked down at her, eyes wide. "What?" He shook his head. "For what?"

"Thank you for getting me," she breathed.

He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Any time," he replied.

* * *

Captain Schmitz and Doctor Nichols took their spots in the front compartment of the puddle jumper, while Ronon directed Eva to a seat in the rear. He found the medical supply kit and quickly wrapped her in the silver thermal blanket. Kneeling at her feet, he took out the saline solution, cleaned out a gash on her forehead, and carefully scrubbed the dried blood off from under and around her swollen nose.

"I think you broke your nose," he muttered to her.

She closed her eyes and shrugged.

He reached into the medical kit once more to grab some butterfly closures and gingerly applied them to her forehead cut.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"How can you be sorry?" he grunted, breaking a cold pack and handing it to her. "You don't even remember what you did, Eva."

She took the pack from him and brought it, surprisingly not to her nose, but to her head.

He rested his hands on her knees, let out a deep sigh, and stared into her face.

"You're worried," she observed as she looked down at him, "and I'm sorry."

He nodded, got to his feet, and took the seat next to her. He draped an arm over her shoulder and she leaned against him, head drooping forward.

"Hey, you gotta stay awake," he ordered. "You've hit your head real hard. No sleep until we get you checked out."

Her eyes were already closed. "But I'm so tired," she protested.

"Too bad, Eva," he barked, shaking her. "You gotta stay awake."

"Jumper 7, this is control, do you read?" the voice over the jumper's radio called.

"This is Jumper 7, we copy and we've completed our mission. Eva Dex is safe with us, though a little beat up. Looks like her jumper crash landed."

"The cruiser left lunar orbit and made a run for the city. They got a few shots in before we could get the shield up. For whatever reason, it looks like our cloak is ineffective, though the shield _did_ hold. They've changed course and are on their way to the mainland. We recommend dropping your cloak in exchange for shields. Chances are they already know where you are."

"Copy that," Captain Schmitz replied. "Switching to shields."

"My wife?" Ronon asked.

The captain nodded. "Ronon would like to know if his wife is okay."

"I'm fine, Ronon," her voice spoke sharply into the radio. "But don't expect me to greet you with a smile and open arms when you return."

Ronon nodded, reluctantly accepting her reaction. She had every right to be mad at him for lying to her and for leaving her on base, but at least she was safe. He'd take angry and alive over the alternative.

"The Wraith are here?" Eva asked.

"Yes," Ronon answered.

"Max speed, heading back to Atlantis," the captain stated. "ETA 15 minutes."

"Copy that. The _Hammond_ is finalizing the launch process. If worse comes to worst, they should be able to beam you aboard."

"Buckle in everybody. This isn't going to be a pleasant ride."

Ronon and Eva headed to the front of the jumper to take the two empty and more secure seats. The captain flew the jumper as quickly as she could through the storm swirling over the ocean. Crates in the rear compartment slid, shifted, and fell from overhead as the ship was whipped around like a windsock. With the benefit of the shield, though, the interior of the jumper was eerily quiet.

"Jumper 7, our sensors are indicating that the cruiser is advancing on your location."

"Copy that. Don't see it yet, but we'll keep our eyes – holy shit," she breathed. "Strike that. We've got eyes on the cruiser. You're sure our cloak is useless?"

"The city's cloak was completely useless. The same technology powers the jumpers' cloaks so we can only assume that they're useless, too."

"How many hits from the cruiser can our shield take?" she asked.

"Unclear," command replied.

"Awesome," Captain Schmitz sighed. "What's the status of the other jumpers?"

"They were on the cruiser's six but it launched its darts. They're all tied up in a dogfight."

"Copy that." She turned to the technician. "Nichols, you're on drones. Best defense is a good offense."

"B-but I've never fired one outside of simulations." His eyes had gone wide and his face blanched at the request.

"You wanna switch?" she asked, eyes blazing with sparks. "You fly and make evasive maneuvers while I fire the drones?"

"I've got the drones," Nichols conceded.

"Here we go," she whispered. "We're gonna want to be under the ship. That's where the hull is thinnest and where they can't reach us with their own weapons." With surprisingly little resistance from the Wraith cruiser, she flew the jumper below it.

"Why didn't they shoot at us?" Ronon asked.

"No clue," Schmitz replied. "But I'm not gonna return the favor. Fire," she ordered.

Nichols released a barrage of drones into the belly of the ship.

She reached across the gap in the seats and slapped him on the arm. "Nice shot!" she complimented.

The technician blushed.

In an instantaneous counter strike, the cruiser released a beam of bright white light from underneath that just narrowly missed their jumper.

"What the hell?" the captain shouted, banking hard to the right and flying away from the Wraith ship. "Since when do cruisers have beaming technology? I thought only darts had that!"

"Cruisers _don't_ have beaming technology," Ronon confirmed.

"Apparently this one does," she retorted. "Shit!"

"Can they pick up our whole ship?" Nichols asked to no one in particular.

"I don't wanna wait around to find out," Schmitz replied. "Nichols, I'm gonna make another pass on the port side of the cruiser. Fire as many drones as you can. Aim low again. If we can't take down the whole ship, maybe we can at least take out their beaming capabilities."

"Got it," he nodded resolutely.

"Hang on tight." She swooped the jumper past the side of the cruiser. "Now!" she yelled.

Nichols released more drones and all but one made their mark.

"Damn!" Schmitz exclaimed. "If you ever decide to change careers, Nichols, I would gladly take you as my first mate."

His face and neck flushed once more. "Thanks, Captain."

"Look, you scared 'em away," she grinned, pointing to the retreating cruiser.

The cruiser had ascended higher into the atmosphere and positioned itself directly over them.

"It's not retreating," Ronon warned.

Before Ronon had even finished his sentence, Schmitz dodged another beam from the middle of the ship.

"Fire at will," she ordered, concentrating hard on avoiding the barrage of beams as they effected their own retreat. She pulled up the HUD and tried to locate the other defense jumpers. "Jumper 5, this is Jumper 7," she spoke into the radio. "We're coming in hot toward your location and need back up. This cruiser has beaming technology and is trying to pick us up!"

"Jumper 7, this is Jumper 5. We copy. We've cleaned up most of the darts and are heading your way."

"Jumper 7, this is Dr. McKay from control. What's the status of your shield?"

"100 percent," Schmitz answered.

"Then you should be okay. Your shield protects everyone inside from being beamed up."

"Doctor, I think they're trying to beam the whole jumper aboard," Nichols responded upon realizing that Captain Schmitz was too focused on avoiding the Wraith beams to reply.

"Not possible. The Wraith beaming technology does not pick up anything non-organic," McKay informed them. "Our puddle jumpers are very clearly made from non-organic matter."

"Then why the hell are they trying?!" the captain shouted back at him.

McKay uttered a response over the radio, but it was drowned out by blinding light, silence, and then finally…oblivion.


	8. The Meat of an Old Steer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and Eva wake up inside cocoons on the Wraith Cruiser.

Before he opened his eyes, Ronon knew where he was. He had been held captive in enough Wraith cocoons to recognize the warm, sticky web encasing his body. Craning his neck as far forward as it would reach, he looked to both sides of him. There was no one to his left, but Eva – eyes closed and unconscious – was in her own cocoon on his right.

"Eva!" he hissed. "Eva!"

Her eyes fluttered open and, once they focused, widened in fear.

"Dad?" she whispered.

"I'm here, pup," he reassured her.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice breaking.

He started to wiggle his fingers in an attempt to reach the knife concealed in his wrist guard. "We're in cocoons on the cruiser."

"The cruiser?" he heard her breathe.

"We need to get outta here."

"Schmitz and Nichols?"

"They're not here. I don't know where they are," he answered as he struggled against the tendrils of the cocoon. "Can you reach a knife?"

"I'm trying," she replied.

Her voice was higher than usual and the weakness it portrayed broke something inside him. His little girl was scared and there was nothing he could do about it. He thrashed himself against his restraints but no matter how he fought against his prison, he couldn't comfort her, he couldn't protect her.

"If you cut yourself out before I do, don't stop to release me," he ordered. "Just go. Find a way out on your own."

"Dad," she whimpered.

"You leave me here and find a way home to your mother. Do you understand me?"

"No," she stubbornly declared. "I stand a better chance at survival if you're with me. We get separated – I'm dead."

"Dammit, Eva. Will you please for once in your life just listen to me?"

"No!" she shouted. "You would never leave me so I'm not leaving you."

"Quiet," he barked at the sound of approaching armored footsteps.

A Wraith commander and two drones appeared from around the dark corner and halted before their cocoons. The commander surveyed both of them from top to bottom, Ronon all the while hating how long its ravenous reptilian eyes lingered on his daughter.

"I did not realize we had picked up two more. A Lantean gate ship and _four_ humans?" the Wraith commented with an unsettling leer. "What a pleasant surprise." It walked up to Eva's cocoon and smiled. "And this one is young." It stroked the side of her cheek with the back of the finger of its feeding hand and she recoiled into the womb-like pod to get away.

"Don't touch her," Ronon snarled.

It looked back and forth from Eva's amber eyes to Ronon's. "Fascinating how certain traits are passed down from the human sire to its offspring," it mused. "Useful too, once you learn how to control it...how to breed for it."

"Take me," Ronon growled, interrupting it. "Take me and let her go."

The Wraith raised its brow and turned its attention to him. "She is important enough to you that you would sacrifice your own life for hers?" it asked more rhetorically than to Ronon himself. "Interesting…" It pulled a small device from its coat pocket and pressed a button, as though making notes. "I have frequently observed the females protecting their young, but this is the first time I have seen it with a male." The Wraith shrugged and put the device back in its place. "Unfortunately, you are hardly in a position to bargain. Whatever would make you think that I would let either one of you go?"

"I'm bigger. I'm stronger. I'll better satisfy your hunger," he argued.

"You humans consume bovine flesh, do you not?" it asked, yellow eyes peering into his own.

He glared back, breathing heavily, still trying to reach his knife. When he got free, he would start by cutting those eyes out of their sockets.

"Would you settle for the meat of an old steer," it returned its gaze to Ronon's daughter, "when you could have veal instead? I think not," it whispered.

Ronon slammed his entire weight against the cocoon, trying to break himself free. "Don't touch her!"

"I much prefer the taste of the females, anyway." It ignored Ronon and stepped even closer to Eva. "I will leave the ox for my underlings."

"Dad," she called out to him. He could hear the tears thickening in the back of her throat.

The Wraith lowered Eva's cocoon, but she was ready. She forced her way out of it, grabbed her knife and sliced the Wraith across its cheek, making it hiss with pain.

"Eva, run!" Ronon shouted to her.

As she turned to look at him, the two Wraith guards caught her by the elbows, disarmed her, and forced her to the floor. The commander wiped the dark blood from its face and cackled.

"Let her go!" Ronon yelled. "Take me!"

The Wraith advanced upon her, knelt to the floor and plunged his hand to her chest, preparing and strengthening her body for the feeding process. It clearly wanted this to last as long as possible. She shrieked in pain, tears falling from her eyes.

Her pain became his pain and the ground swayed violently beneath him. Had he not been imprisoned in the cocoon, he surely would have dropped to his knees. "Take me!" he roared as he watched, unable to look away.

The Wraith stopped and for the shortest of moments, Ronon thought he had convinced it. But that flicker of hope soon extinguished when he realized he recognized the look in the Wraith's eyes as it stared down at Eva. A Wraith had once given him that same look more than twenty-five years earlier.

The beast turned its head and made eye contact with Ronon, still fighting his flesh-like manacles. "She's strong," it sneered. "You should be very proud."

"I'm stronger," he growled.

"Take her to the laboratory," the Wraith commanded.

"And him?" one of the drones asked, nodding toward Ronon.

"You will take your fill once I have finished with her," it answered. "And see to it that she's restrained."

"No," Eva breathed as she struggled against the two guards. "No! Dad!" she screamed, looking back at him over her shoulder. With Eva flailing wildly in their grip, kicking, biting, and headbutting but to no gain, they disappeared around a corner. "Daddy!" he heard her cry.

Ronon strained so hard against the cocoon that his vision began to darken. A piece of sinew near his neck was suffocating him, he felt the capillaries bursting in the whites of his eyes, but he refused to relent.

They couldn't take his child. His only child.


	9. Without a Trace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva is taken and implanted with a tracking device.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a medical procedure performed without anesthesia.

Her head was pounding and the metallic taste of blood – that of Wraith mixed with her own – poisoned her tongue. She fought against her two captors, lunging, dragging her feet, and even biting to make them loosen their tight hold on her. If she could get just one of them to release her, she stood a chance…but neither one yielded. Immune to her resistance, they hauled her down several dark and foggy corridors until they arrived at the entrance of the laboratory. A string of clear slime hung suspended from between the automatic doors like a foul and tenuous tightrope as they opened. She was unceremoniously shoved through it and into the room, the sensation of the cold ooze against her skin making her stomach turn.

"What's this?" a definitively human voice curiously asked from inside. "A prisoner?"

The first drone released her wrist but before she could take advantage of the change in position and strike, the drone had already clasped both of her arms behind her back. With the first Wraith kneeling at her feet in order to bind them, she kicked hard, her boot made contact, and there was a loud crack. The drone's helmet split in half. It rose to its feet and the face that met Eva's made her wish she had aimed her kick in a different spot. It had slits like a snake's in place of nostrils, blank unseeing eyes, and a gaping mouth like that of a screaming corpse. Irate and unhinged, it closed its fingers around her throat and brought its other hand to her chest to feed.

"If our master asked you to bring her here, then I imagine he will be extremely disappointed to find her already fed upon," the man in the room calmly stated as he tinkered with a device in his hands.

The drone released her and she wheezed, the throbbing in her head keeping time with the pounding of her heart. Before she could deliver another kick, the unmasked drone seized her by the ankles and, with the help of the other, flung her onto a cold metal examination table. Her vertebrae crashed into steel, sending a twinge of nerves up the length of her spine. With the slap of leather and the clinking of buckles, they tightened restraints first around her wrists and ankles and finally around her neck.

The drones then stood sentry at the threshold of the laboratory until the man spoke once more.

"You may leave," he said without taking his eyes from his work. "She can't do any harm while strapped to the table. Do us all a favor and go fetch yourself another mask, perhaps."

The two drones regarded each other for a brief moment, until they eventually left.

"Please – you have to let me go," Eva said as soon as the drones were gone, turning to look at the man.

He stood up from his seat. A tall, thin man with blue eyes, dark brown hair and small, almost beady features, he walked slowly and deliberately, carrying himself with a certain poise. Once he reached the examination table, he graced her with a smile, its intent – whether friendly or sinister – hidden by the shadows.

"I cannot do that," he answered.

"Please," she insisted. "My father is still out there and it's my fault –"

"Hold still," the man instructed, ignoring her pleas. He produced a handheld Ancient medical scanner from the folds of his robes and ran it down the length of her body.

"You have the gene?" she asked in astonishment.

He looked into her eyes. "The gene?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"To operate Ancient technology."

He looked back down at the scanner. "Yes. I suppose I do," he mused.

"Why won't you let me go?" she asked again. "Do you work for these Wraith?"

"You have a moderate concussion and your nose is broken," he informed her, ignoring her question.

"Yeah, I know that," she spat. "But in the grand scheme of things, those are kind of the least of my worries."

The man returned to what Eva assumed was his work area, grabbed another device and returned to her side.

"This may cause you some discomfort," he warned her.

"Why? What are you going to do to me?" She squirmed away from him as much as she could from within her restraints.

"Fear not. This will not harm you."

He placed the new device securely in the palm of his hand and held it over Eva's forehead. He closed his eyes and it emitted a bright green light. The ache in Eva's head intensified until the green light shut off, at which point her pain ceased entirely. He repeated the process over her nose, blood still trickling down her face. The discomfort increased until, once again, it stopped. The man reached for a cloth and dabbed at Eva's nose to wipe up the blood.

"Better," he simply stated.

Before Eva could decide whether to thank him or not, the laboratory doors opened and the Wraith commander as well as three drones entered the room.

"We successfully retrieved a Lantean gateship," it informed the man. "You shall begin work on it soon. But first," it approached Eva, "we have a matter to address."

Once more, Eva writhed from within her bonds, but they were too tight.

"You have heard of runners, little one?" it asked.

She stared at the ceiling, refusing to answer.

The Wraith ran the back of its index finger along the side of her cheek and, for whatever reason, she felt suddenly compelled to answer.

"My father was a runner," she confessed. She shook her head in an effort to rid herself of its influence on her mind.

The Wraith took in a dramatic gasp of air that chilled her tender spine. "How poetic." It turned to the drones. "Turn her over," it instructed, its voice low and sharp with ruthlessness.

The drones approached her and stationed themselves, one at each of her arms and one at her feet. In a simultaneous and rehearsed maneuver, they released the leather straps that bound her, then – despite her thrashing – flipped her over like a pig on a spit. They restrained her again.

Eva's pulse accelerated as panic began to take over. Being face down on the table was somehow infinitely worse, infinitely more vulnerable, than being on her back. Her view was blocked; there was no way for her to see what was happening around her.

"Locate her transmitter," the Wraith ordered.

The man who had healed her earlier ran his scanner once more over her body and found her Atlantis-issued subcutaneous implant near her left shoulder.

"There," he pointed.

The Wraith, scalpel in hand, made a deep incision in her arm. There was no anesthetic, no numbing agent. Eva bit her lip to suppress a scream and closed her eyes. It took a pair of forceps and dug around in her arm until it found her implant. It dropped it, stained with her blood, into the man's palm. "Disable it."

The man went back to his work station. "Disabled," he confirmed after just a few short seconds. "It will no longer broadcast her location."

Eva glanced at her arm. Dark blood seeped slowly from the cut and puddled onto the floor.

"Good. Let's do a trade, shall we?" it sneered. It pushed Eva's hair off her neck and back. Her blood ran cold. It gripped the collar of her shirt at the top of her spine and ripped. The fabric gave way and the skin of her back erupted into goosebumps.

_Don't cry_, she thought. _Don't cry._

The man scanned her back, then touched her with his index finger, drawing a short, vertical line to the right of her spine. "There."

With no hesitation and no time to prepare herself, the Wraith cut into Eva's back with its scalpel. Unable to contain her anguish, she released a scream of pain. She couldn't help but cry, sobs racking her body.

The Wraith slammed a hand on her shoulder blade and forced her to the table. "Hold still," it growled. "The new tracking device," it began, directing its attention to the man, "is it complete?"

"Yes," he replied, "though it has not been tested."

"Bring it here."

The man approached, there was a clanking of metal, and Eva felt something small and cold enter the open, bleeding wound on her back.

"Close her up."

The man took the device he had used earlier to heal Eva's head and nose and brought it first to the cut on her back, and then to the incision on her arm. Like before, she no longer felt any pain; it was as though the injuries had never existed.

The laboratory's doors opened once more, and another Wraith entered. "The humans have launched their battleship. It will be within weapons range –"

Before it finished its sentence, there was a loud boom and the whole ship shook.

"You say the tracking device is still untested?" the commander asked the man.

"Correct."

It smirked down at Eva. "Then let us see how well it works. Make the next scheduled jump," it ordered to the other Wraith. "And take her to the fighter bay," it nodded to the drones.

Her restraints were removed, and she was escorted out of the laboratory.

"If you can track me, so can my family!" she shouted.

The commander stopped and turned around to look upon her. "You are going somewhere where they will never, ever find you, little one," it leered, taking a strand of her hair and running it through its fingers.

With that, it turned its back to her once more.

The ship groaned and shuddered, preparing for what Eva assumed was a jump into hyperspace. But as the groan grew in volume and intensity, her skin began to feel like it was stretched too tightly across her shoulders. Her bones tingled and blistering heat seared from the tracker in her back. She didn't know what was happening, but she had traveled through hyperspace before…and this wasn't what it felt like.

* * *

One more inch. Just one more inch and he could reach his knife. One more inch and every Wraith on this ship would take its last breath. One more inch and he could save his daughter.

His fingers closed around the ivory handle. Bit by bit he sawed through the web enveloping him. First, his right hand was free. Then his left arm. He ripped, sliced, and strained until he finally emerged from the cocoon. The coolness of the air, shocking to his skin, made him shiver.

They had taken her to a laboratory. From what little he knew of the design of Wraith ships, they tended to keep their labs near the stern of the aircraft. He followed the last corridor he had seen them take her down, his blaster set to kill, but all the corridors looked the same – walls of organic matter shrouded in heavy mist. He stopped for a moment, concealed in the shadows, to find his bearings. He hadn't sensed a jump to hyperspace yet, so he still had time. Unless they had made the jump while he was unconscious…

The impact of a collision shook the walls around him. It had to be Atlantis. The _Hammond_ must have made it into orbit.

Heart pounding, he glanced around at his surroundings; he was sure he was near the stern of the cruiser. She couldn't be far. There was still a chance.

The hiss of an automatic door drew his attention. He swung the muzzle of his weapon toward the sound and the Wraith commander emerged. For the second time that day, just as he established lethal aim, bright light surrounded his body, and he found himself on the deck of the _Hammond_.

Colonel Lorne was shouting commands mid-deck from the captain's chair.

Doctor Nichols collapsed against a wall, hands pressed tightly to both sides of his head, tears coming to his eyes.

To his right, the shriveled corpse of a female lay splayed out on the floor. The silver of the chain around her neck gleamed in the light.

Silver – just like Eva's necklace.

"We need a medical team with a body bag to the deck immediately!"

Ronon pushed his way to the corpse and fell to his knees. Terrified, he took the chain into his hand and ran his fingers over a set of silver dog tags.

_SCHMITZ, MELANIE L._  
824-09-1165 AF  
_A POS  
_ _JEWISH_

First relief, and then guilt for that relief, flowed deep through his core. Gently releasing the tags, he raised himself to stand and searched around him once again.

"Eva? Where's Eva?!" he shouted. "Where's my daughter?!"

"We only detected three subcutaneous transmitters, sir," the first mate responded.

"She was with us!" Ronon yelled. "Check again! Scan again! She was onboard with us!"

The first mate looked to Colonel Lorne for permission. He nodded to her. "Do it."

She scanned the cruiser again while Ronon checked the screen from over her shoulder. She was right. Nothing was transmitting.

"Send me back there," Ronon ordered. "Send me back and I'll go find her. I know where she is."

"Ronon, I can't send you back by yourself," Lorne replied.

Ronon snatched Lorne's collar and lifted him from his seat. "She is a sixteen-year-old girl! She is my only child! We can't leave her on that ship!"

"I agree," Lorne said and Ronon released him. "But I can't send you in alone." He turned to the first mate. "Get Malcolm, Knox, Kim and –"

"Sir, I'm detecting a strange energy signal from the Cruiser," a scientist called from his station.

"What kind of signal?"

"Unsure it's like—"

Ronon looked out the deck window at the Cruiser. It had stopped firing at them. For a moment it remained still and then, in the blink of an eye, it disappeared.

"Did they just jump to hyperspace?" Lorne asked.

"No, sir," the scientist replied. "No hyperspace window was detected."

"Then where the hell did they go?" he shouted.

The cruiser was gone.

Eva was gone.

* * *

The breath had left his lungs. He tried to inhale, but he took in no air. Tears started to blur his vision.

The entire deck was silent.

"Beam me down to the city," he said in a voice only just above a whisper.

"Ronon…" Lorne started.

"What if that was one of your girls? Beam me down to my wife so I can tell her what happened to our child," he persisted.

With a nod of comprehension from Lorne, he was transported to the middle of the gate room. He lifted his gaze to the control deck and his eyes met hers. He tracked the emotions as they crossed her face. First joy that he had returned safely. Then panic, because he was alone.

Emma ran out of the control room and down the stairs, and planted herself in front of him. She looked up into his face, at the tears now freely falling down his cheeks.

"Where's Eva?" she whispered.

His eyes met hers, but his mouth, like his lungs, refused to function.

"Where is she?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He was lightheaded. All he could do was stare down at her.

"Dammit, Ronon!" she shouted and pounded her fist against his chest. "Where is my baby girl?" she shrieked.

"They took her," he breathed. "The ship disappeared and they took her."

Emma took a step back as a soft whimper escaped her lips. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body. "Is she alive?" she asked, trying to keep her own tears at bay.

Ronon shook his head and closed his eyes. He couldn't face her. He couldn't witness the pain he was about to cause her as he delivered the news. "I don't know, Emma. I don't know."

"How can you not know?!" she shouted at him.

"She was alive last I saw her," he answered. "They took her to one of their labs."

"To a lab? Why?"

"To…" he fixed his gaze to the floor, "to turn her into a Runner."


	10. Point of Origin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now a Runner, Eva must find her way off a desolate desert planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for some sort of graphic violence toward the end. 
> 
> I tried my best with the point of origin business. Hope it's mostly accurate.
> 
> I got the names of the symbols/constellations from The Cheyenne Project on Twitter. Thought their ideas and names were cool, so here's the link: https://twitter.com/cheyenneproject/status/574674228064219137
> 
> The address I used for Sateda, I believe, appears in the episode Sateda.

It had all happened so fast.

The cruiser was taking heavy fire from the _Hammond_, shaking the hull, threatening to tear a hole in its side that would expose them all – Wraith and human prisoners alike – to the harsh vacuum of outer space. The newly-implanted device in her back burned through her skin, through her muscles, up her neck and into the base of her skull. As the glowing heat intensified and her grip on reality in turn attenuated, there was a lurch in motion and all was quiet. Assault fire from the _Hammond_ had ceased. The last thing she remembered was her knees collapsing beneath her and being dragged across the floor of the Cruiser as she lost consciousness.

She had awakened with sand in her eyes and up her nose, drenched in sweat, face down in the middle of a desert. Coughing up the tiny grains she had breathed in while passed out, she gingerly lifted her head and realized the burning in her back had stopped. She sat up quickly and felt for it, her stomach plummeting as her fingers grazed over the small, hard knot just at the base of her cervical spine.

So she was a runner now.

She looked around to take in her bleak surroundings and, much to her disbelief, beyond barren desert and dry air visibly waving with heat, laid eyes on a Stargate in the distance. She clambered to her feet, ran toward it and hoped with all of her being that it wasn't a mirage. It was farther away than it appeared, and her boots soon filled with sand, weighing her down, as she waded through the crests and vales of the desert. As she got closer, the gate grew in size until she stood below it, wheezing from her laborious sprint and dizzy from the sweltering heat. She approached it slowly, afraid that it would disappear the second she tried to touch it, reached out a tentative hand, and exhaled a sigh of relief when the skin of her fingers met solid, hot metal. It was really there. But that was only half a problem solved.

She glanced wildly about her in search of the dial home device. At first, she found nothing but sand. Her heart sank and her pulse began to race until, out of the corner of her eye, she captured a flash of sunlight reflecting off a blue gem, hidden beneath a modest dune. She rushed toward it and dug away the scorching sand with her bare hands until the entire interface of a Pegasus Galaxy DHD was exposed.

She pushed her hair out of her face, itchy grains of sand lodging uncomfortably into her scalp as she did, and quickly dialed. She punched in the first six symbols of the gate address for Atlantis but when she reached the last symbol, she hesitated. To complete the address, she needed a point of origin…and she had no idea where she was.

Theoretically, the point of origin should be the only symbol unique to this particular DHD. But in order to find the difference, she had to know what the standard was. And, much to her own frustration, she had never actually dialed a gate. The few times she had ever been off-world, either her father had dialed or Sheppard, from the jumper pilot's seat had. She studied the DHD, reciting the names of every constellation she knew. Out of 36 symbols, she could only name 20, which left 16 symbols unidentified. 16 symbols that could be the potential point of origin. Why hadn't she paid more attention when her father had tried to get her to memorize them?

She looked to the sky and was immediately blinded by the light of twin suns. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she squinted up into the cloudless blue expanse but the midday heavens revealed no information about her place within the galaxy. She looked back down at the six lighted symbols on the DHD, glowing impatiently as they waited for their sequence to be finished. Soon the chevrons, along with her hope, dimmed until they were finally extinguished.

She had no water, no food, no shelter, no protection from the heat or the sun… Her life's priorities swam through her head as she tried to triage them but all she could latch onto was that she was forsaken, alone, and running from the Wraith. She was their prey and she didn't know when they would send their first hunter.

Her hands tingled until they were finally numb, her chest tightened like a clamshell, and she started to sweat precious water that she could not afford to lose. The arid expanse spun around her and she leaned against the DHD for support.

A staggering realization came to her as she tried to steady her breathing. Even with the point of origin, she couldn't simply dial the gate and waltz into the gate room back home. Atlantis had its shield. Meanwhile, she had no radio, no IDC transmitter, no way to let the people on the other side of the gate know that it was her. Even with her missing, they would never lower the shield for a wormhole from an unknown planet immediately following a Wraith attack on the city. They all knew better than that.

Same with the Alpha Site. It, too, had a shield on its gate.

Sure, Atlantis had allies all over the Pegasus Galaxy, but she couldn't risk bringing a whole Wraith Cruiser down on their settlements. Morality aside, she didn't know any of their gate addresses, anyway.

Maybe she could dial addresses at random until a connection was established, but that was risky. It could take her to some other uninhabited planet…or it could spit her out onto a rock with an unbreathable atmosphere, or underwater, or into space. She remembered Dr. McKay once saying something like only three percent of planets in the galaxy were hospitable to humans. She didn't like those odds.

They were all bad options, and none of them viable until she could figure out the point of origin. And to extrapolate the point of origin using her location within space, she needed to wait for nightfall. How was she to know how long the days were on this planet, though? Perhaps the suns would set in just a few hours, or maybe it would take the equivalent of days. All she knew was that the longer she waited, the more she risked a Wraith being sent to hunt her and if she was certain of one thing, it was that they would do that before she could make any real attempt at escape.

If she was going to survive an encounter with a hunter, there was one thing she needed more than anything in the moment: weapons. Everything else – even water – could wait. She knew she had lost one knife on the Cruiser, but as she patted at her vest, she was relieved to discover she still had two others concealed on her. If there were a forest or any sort of trees nearby, she could fashion herself some bantos rods or whittle some spears, but there was nothing. Not even a cactus in sight. How could she rely on just two small knives to defend herself?

As all-encompassing dread threatened to drown her, something the Wraith commander had said to her father echoed in the recesses of her mind.

"She's strong. You should be very proud."

The deranged laugh that escaped her mouth surprised her. How could she find the words of the beast that had put her into this situation inspiring? How had he been the one, and not her father, who truly recognized her strength…her potential?

But he had. She had been made a runner for a reason and if the Wraith on that Cruiser had wanted her dead, she would be dead. Why waste time, effort, and a perfectly good tracking device just to kill her several hours to a day later? Why would they have left her armed? And why would they have dropped her within eyesight of the gate?

Because they wanted a game.

They would start slow – send a single Wraith the first time and one most likely with less experience than others. Though Eva had never successfully taken her father down in a fight, she knew she was still a force to be reckoned with; she had brought down full-grown marines, unarmed, in hand-to-hand combat many times before. But this time she had a knife…two of them, to be exact. Eva plus two knives, and nothing else to lose against a young and inexperienced Wraith? Those odds, she would take.

And so, she tracked the path of the suns as they set, and waited for the advent of the stars.

* * *

The first sun set and the second followed not too long after. It had been many hours, some of which Eva had spent exploring her nearby surroundings to seek out water, but most of which she had spent resting in the shade of a particularly tall sand dune in an effort to conserve her energy should the need to defend herself against a Wraith arise. Her search for water was short, and though she had found a few large rocks that she could potentially use as weapons, it had ultimately proved unsuccessful. Her mouth was sticky with dehydration and her lips had begun to crack, but as the first evening stars twinkled across the purple and orange sky, teasing the promise of her return home, she hoped that wouldn't matter.

The sky grew darker and darker until myriad constellations dappled the heavens. She climbed to the top of the dune to get a better look. "Okay," she inhaled deeply, thinking back to the nights she had spent as a little girl stargazing on the mainland with her father, "the point of origin will be a constellation that is visible in both hemispheres. Constellations visible in both hemispheres are located along the celestial equator. Find the celestial equator," she whispered to herself. "Celestial equator always crosses the horizon at exactly East-West," she balled her hand into a fist, then extended her thumb and her pinky to trace the path of the suns with her hand, "like this." She then rotated ninety degrees so that she faced North-South, flipped her hand, and brought it down until it crossed with the horizon. She squinted hard.

There had to be millions of stars packed along the equator alone, but eventually one constellation whose stars were bigger, brighter, and closer drew her attention.

It had to be the point of origin.

To her it looked like an animal, but then again, she had started learning the gate constellations when she was six years old, and at that age, everything looked like animals. She always thought _Subido _looked like a scorpion; _Avoniv_ an octopus; and _Gilltin _was very clearly a pack of birds in flight.

However, the constellation shining above her looked like a rabbit…or was it a mouse? She squinted hard and tilted her head, trying to figure out which one it was. Depending on the angle, it morphed from one to the other. She stared at the constellation, deep in thought, until a dart zoomed across the ecliptic, released a conical beam of white light and brought her back down to earth.

"Shit," she hissed, sliding down the crest in a spray of sand before bolting toward the gate. She would have to decide which one to bet on once she reached the DHD.

Wraith stunner blasts whirred past her ears. She ran as fast as she could, but the sand was slowing her pace too much.

"You're prey," she thought, "so act like it."

It would take her longer to reach the gate if she didn't run in a straight line, but she was less likely to get stunned if she made her movements unpredictable, erratic.

After a winding chase, she reached the DHD but quickly realized she didn't know which address to dial. She stood there weighing her options, hands shaking, glancing over her shoulder, adrenaline pumping. Another stun blast narrowly missed her head. Spinning around to locate the source of it, her necklace sprung out from underneath her shirt, jostled by her momentum. Her heartbeat increasing, she took the silver pendant in between her thumb and her index finger and studied it. Small dots, all connected by thin lines, hand engraved by her father shortly after she was born.

_Arami, Alura, Ecrumig, Salma, Roehi, Gilltin._

He had her memorize the six constellations from the time she was a child. He made her draw them on paper, in dirt, in sand; point them out on the ring of the ancestors until she knew them by heart.

Sateda.

If she could gate to Sateda, she could dial Atlantis from there. An anonymous dial from Sateda would be much more significant than one from some random backwater planet. They would be curious enough to send a MALP or the _Hammond_ and then she could be rescued. Her heart leapt to her chest and her hands steadied as she turned back to the dialing device.

_Arami._

A stun blast hit her foot and her leg gave out from under her. She hoisted herself back up, using the DHD for support.

_Alura._

She glanced over her shoulder. The Wraith was getting too close.

_Ecrumig_.

She turned and hurled one of her rocks at the Wraith. Though it was not heavy enough to do any serious damage, it still hit the hunter square in the head and momentarily distracted it.

_Salma. Roehi. Gilltin._

The Wraith closed the distance between them and aimed its stunner directly at her. She ducked as it shot and charged at it with her larger knife drawn. She sliced it across the stomach and it fell to its knees.

She raced back to the DHD, looking frantically down at the display, then up at the sky. The 16 unknown symbols swam in front of her like some sort of connect-the-dot menagerie. Most of them, she was able to eliminate quickly enough. The one near the top looked too much like a hippo, that one too much like a rooster, the one near the bottom too much like a monkey. Strange where the mind went under great duress.

The Wraith ripped Eva's knife from its bleeding gut, threw it aside, and advanced upon her.

Though she had eliminated most of symbols, there were still two left that looked so similar to one another. One like a mouse and one like a rabbit. Fifty-fifty shot.

The Wraith was no more than a few yards away.

With no more time to think, she punched the one that looked more like a rabbit and less like a mouse.

Success.

The gate came to life as the event horizon stabilized. The Wraith grabbed her shoulder from behind, slammed her back against the DHD, and brought its hand over her chest to feed. Eva reached for her last knife and brought it to the Wraith's face. It had anticipated her move and closed its feeding hand around her wrist, squeezing, its nails digging into her flesh, drawing blood until she could hold the blade no longer. It fell to the sand without a sound.

Arms pinned, Eva curled her only working leg up and thrust it into the Wraith's wounded abdomen. It stumbled backward, giving her just enough time to duck, grab another rock, and swipe. Stone met skull and there was a crack. The Wraith swayed in front of her, frozen in motion. She drew her arm back once more and swung with all of her strength. The Wraith fell to the ground and she followed, pinning it down and striking its face again…and again…and again, stopping only once the rock no longer encountered solid resistance.

She stood slowly and dropped her weapon. She wiped her hands on her pants, mixing together blood, sand, and brain matter alike. Trembling, heart hammering through her chest, Eva recovered both of her knives, took a deep breath and limped through the gate.


	11. All Work and No Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Skip. 
> 
> Over lunch, Ronon, John, and Rodney share their opinions about the woman who serves as Atlantis' head of linguistics. Meanwhile, a signal is detected across the galaxy.

**Two Months Later**

"Just admit it," Sheppard said, mouth full of a bite of ham sandwich, "you wouldn't have been able to figure the damn thing out without her."

"Look, ten more minutes on my own and –"

"Rodney, you got the words for 'empty" and 'cow' mixed up," Sheppard interrupted.

"All right, fine. Her knowledge of Ancient _may_ have come in handy…sure," McKay admitted.

"Yeah, we knew we needed to call someone when you told us the 'power source was cow,'" Ronon muttered under his breath as he picked a piece of meat from between his molars with his pinky finger.

"Oh, now I'm supposed to be an expert in Ancient as well as astrophysics?" McKay barked.

"How do you even make that mistake? They're not even the same part of speech." Ronon always derived a certain pleasure out of egging McKay on.

"I'm sorry. Have we dropped into a parallel universe? Because I could have sworn that Conan the Barbarian here was just lecturing me on the difference between nouns and adjectives."

Ronon took a drink from his water and lifted his shoulder in a dismissive shrug.

"I don't recall you offering a better translation," McKay spat. "How's _your_ Ancient, eh?"

Ronon leaned forward and smiled calmly as McKay got increasingly worked up. "I never pretended to know any Anci—"

"You think she's single?" Sheppard ruminated, bringing an unexpected end to their squabble.

The two bickering men glanced at their friend, looks of confusion etched across their faces.

"What?" McKay asked.

"Rogers," Sheppard supplied with a nod of his chin. "You think she's single?" He tilted his head to the side and stared across the commissary while he evidently weighed the possibility.

Ronon followed his gaze until he, too, saw her. The young linguist was standing near the end of the buffet line, holding a tray full of food and engaged in conversation with one of the young marines. Based on the movement of their mouths, he was doing the lion's share of the talking; to her credit, she seemed to be enjoying herself, smiling and laughing in return, but Ronon couldn't help but notice her eyes periodically dart away from the marine, seeking out the few empty lunch tables still available in the mess hall.

"She acts like she's single," Sheppard decided aloud, his voice pulling Ronon from his observations.

He fixed his eyes on his plate and picked up a chicken bone to gnaw. "That's 'cause she's a tease."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "And you know this…how?"

"Just things I've heard," Ronon shrugged as he inspected the bone for any pieces of meat he had missed.

"Corrigan tried to ask her to dinner," McKay said. "Said she turned him down."

"Stevens, too," Ronon added.

"And Gutierrez. Honestly, the line of men who want to get with her is about as long as the line of people who want to get their hands on Ronon's particle magnum."

Both Ronon and Sheppard stared at him with wide eyes.

"What?"

"We've gotta work on how you phrase things, Rodney," Sheppard grimaced. "I dunno," he continued, balling up a napkin and tossing it onto his tray. "Just because she turned down those yahoos doesn't mean she's not single."

"Single or not," Ronon smirked, "she's too young for _you_."

"But not for you?" Sheppard challenged.

Ronon furrowed his brow. "What? I didn't say that."

Sheppard squinted his eyes and shifted his head from side to side. "No…but it was the way you said it."

"It did kind of sound like that," McKay agreed.

"I'm not interested." Ronon leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and rested his feet on the chair in front of him.

Sheppard sat up straight - military officer straight - in his chair. "Speak of the devil," he murmured as the red-headed woman ended her conversation with the marine and began to search for a place to sit and eat. "Rogers!" he called out.

She jumped a bit at the sound of her name but put on another smile and made her way toward their table.

Sheppard kicked the side of Ronon's propped legs with his own. "But I just – "

"The lady's gotta sit somewhere," Sheppard hissed.

"Fine," Ronon grunted. He reluctantly obliged, brought his feet back to the floor, and sat up straight. "You watch," he muttered to Sheppard as she approached, "she's gonna flirt with you, then turn you down so hard your head'll spin."

"No, she won't," he argued in a similarly low voice.

Dr. Rogers reached the edge of their table and an unnatural, awkward silence fell over their table. 

"Have a seat, Doctor," Sheppard smiled, choosing to ignore Ronon's admonitions. "We were actually just talking about you."

She sat in the now unoccupied chair next to McKay, across from Sheppard and Ronon. "I thought my ears were burning," she said as she gathered all of her long hair to one side. "Good things, I hope?"

"Always," Sheppard replied with a toothy smile.

McKay rolled his eyes and Ronon scratched his scalp.

The young woman smiled back at Sheppard, then lowered her eyes and licked her lips as she unrolled the silverware from its napkin.

"So, Rogers, how long have you been here now?" Sheppard asked.

She chewed on a bite of salad as she thought.

Ronon stirred uncomfortably in his seat; the doctor was the only one eating at their table, meanwhile the three of them just stared at her, waiting for her to finish chewing so she could humor Sheppard and answer his questions as he put the moves on her.

She spoke only once she had swallowed. "About six months." 

"You like it here?" he asked.

"I love it," she answered with a sly smile. "It's quite a bit different than home but…in a good way." She took another bite of her meal.

"Home," Sheppard repeated. "Where's that for you again?"

"Texas." Ronon decided to answer for her in an effort to spare them all from the awkward pause they'd have to endure while she chewed on her greens.

She raised her eyebrows and her smile momentarily faltered. "Yeah," she choked, surprised, her eyes lingering on Ronon before finally looking back at Sheppard. "Outside of San Antonio originally."

Sheppard stuck a potato chip in his mouth and crunched on it. "You uh…you got anyone in particular back there?"

A bold glimmer appeared in her eyes. "You're certainly not asking if I have a boyfriend back home, are you, Colonel?" she asked coquettishly.

He shrugged. "Pretty girl like you..."

"Because if you were, I'd think that such information wouldn't be any of your business." She narrowed her green eyes which, along with her copper hair and slender features, gave Ronon the distinct impression of a fox playing with its prey. "And I think that Stevens, Corrigan, Gutierrez and a few other flyboys could attest to the fact that I'm not looking for one either. I came here to work," she stated, leaning toward Sheppard, "not to play."

"I've always heard that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Sheppard argued, mindful to keep his tone congenial and flirtatious.

"You know, people throw that phrase at me all the time," she shook her head with feigned ignorance, "and they're always shocked when I admit that I've never even seen that movie."

Ronon had been hunting enough times in his life, seen predator interacting with prey, to have an idea of what was going to happen next. He shifted around in his seat to get a better look at Sheppard.

"Oh, come on now. You've never seen _The Shining_?" Sheppard asked in disbelief.

He had fallen into her trap.

"Everybody's seen that movie!"

"Not me," she breathed, settling back in her chair while a devilish smile played on her lips. "You see, it was a little before my time… _sir_."

Ronon tried to turn his laugh into a cough as Sheppard shot daggers at him.

"It's actually not originally from the movie," McKay corrected them, though no one really listened. "It's a traditional English proverb that was only popularized by Kubrick…"

McKay continued to prattle on and Ronon meant to only glance back at Dr. Rogers as she unscrewed the cap from her water bottle to take a quick sip from it, but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her as her lips brushed over the neck of the bottle. She must have sensed she was being watched, as her eyes quickly flickered to his, then down and away before setting the water bottle back down. She crossed her legs under the table, accidentally brushing one of Ronon's shins with her foot as she did so. He sat bolt upright, jerked his knee back, and rattled the table with the rapid motion.

"Sorry!" she squeaked, temporarily losing her well-curated composure.

Sheppard and McKay looked over at Ronon, wide eyed with curiosity until they were interrupted by a nervous-looking technician who had approached their table.

"Um, sir?" he spoke up as he visually addressed everyone around the table except – Ronon noticed – Dr. Rogers.

"What is it, Gutierrez?" Sheppard replied, the tips of his ears still a bit red.

"Uh…not you, sir. Mr. Dex."

Ronon turned to look at him. "Yeah?" he asked with a frown.

"There's something you might want to see. Our long-range scanners have detected a tracking signal, very similar to the one from the device that was implanted into you a few years ago."

"A Runner?" He gave an apathetic shrug. "There are Runners all throughout the galaxy."

Gutierrez took a deep breath. "This signal is coming from P34-534."

"P34-534?" McKay repeated. "That's…"

Ronon finished his sentence for him. "Sateda."


	12. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and the team try to figure out who this Satedan Runner is and how she knows so much about them.

"I told you!" the girl yelled. "I'm Eva! Your daughter! What the hell is wrong with all of you?!"

It was surreal how fast the team had made the trip through the gate to Sateda. Not two hours ago, they had been finishing lunch in the sunny afternoon light of the commissary and now they were back in his long-abandoned home, speeding through the trees of the Veneran Forest as though it were any other forest in the Pegasus Galaxy, and not the woods where his grandfather had first taught him to hunt and track. And to see this girl, like some ghost of a civilization long decimated, stirred an unsettling sensation in his gut.

Ronon regarded the young woman in front of him with both curiosity and suspicion. She wore a pair of black combat boots similar to the ones Sheppard always sported, laced halfway up her shins and caked in mud. Tucked into those boots, she was dressed in pants with rips at both knees that must have once fit her tightly, but now pooled and bagged around her hips and ankles. With the light of the moon as their only light source, he couldn't be certain, but they looked just like what his friends from Earth called "jeans." Odd, he thought, for someone who was so clearly not from Earth. She had zipped her khaki jacket, adorned with a blaze of black, yellow, and red stripes along the sleeves – symbol of the long defunct Satedan military – all the way to her chin to ward off the cold; it utterly dwarfed her already small frame, further diminished by malnutrition. She looked so little, so tired, so frail; had he not seen her bring down the Wraith with his own eyes, he would have never believed it possible. He angled his head to get a better look at the side of her neck, but saw no trace of any tattoo that might reveal something about who she was or what rank she potentially held. His eyes traveled upward as the winter wind blew stray pieces of brown hair from her two long and messy braids across her dark and heavy brow. He then took in the shape of her face – pretty, slender, feminine, but somehow also familiar – and wondered why he had the nagging feeling he perhaps did know her. But his daughter? Impossible. By Satedan standards, the girl would already be considered an adult. Months of running had clearly made her insane. And yet, there was something about her hooded hazel eyes that made him uneasy…

"At this moment, who she is does not matter," Teyla announced. "We have a much larger problem to solve. More Wraith will be upon us soon. We need to remove her tracker so we can take her back with us."

"Take her back?" McKay repeated with incredulity. "Like back back?"

"She already knows of Atlantis. If we took her anywhere else, she would pose a significant security risk," she reasoned.

"Teyla's right," Sheppard agreed. "We're bringing her home with us. Fall back to the jumper."

The team walked in silence, all on high alert, on their way to the ship. Eva was relegated to the middle of the pack where she would not only be safe from the Wraith, but where the whole team could keep a wary eye on her. When they arrived at a clearing in the forest, McKay pulled a small device out of his TAC vest pocket, hit a button, and the jumper materialized. Dr. Beckett boarded first and Eva made moves to follow.

"Whoa there, warrior princess." Sheppard stepped in front of her and blocked her path to the jumper. "There is no way in hell we are letting you on this ship armed."

"Fine," she said, dropping her large knife to the ground before advancing once more toward the ship.

"Not so fast," Sheppard warned as he pointed his gun at her again. "Teyla, pat her down."

Teyla walked up to the girl and began feeling for concealed weapons. She lifted the back of the girl's jacket, withdrew a knife tucked into her waistband, and showed it to the group.

"We good?" the girl asked with a raised eyebrow.

Satisfied, Sheppard began to lower his gun, but Ronon interrupted. Whoever she was, she was clad in the garb of the Satedan military and if she was Satedan, then she needed to be more thoroughly searched.

"Right boot," Ronon ordered.

She sneered, bent down and removed a knife from her boot.

"Left boot," he continued.

She repeated the gesture and threw the knife to the ground.

"Gauntlet."

She produced a dagger from her leather wrist guard.

"Hair," he said, pointing his chin up to her head.

She pulled two small daggers from her long braids, extended her arms wide, and released both of them at the same time from each hand.

"This is weird," Sheppard whispered to McKay, who nodded in response.

Placing her hands on her hips with an air of finality, she raised her eyebrows expectantly at Ronon.

He smirked. "Right boot again," he demanded.

She glared at him, maintaining intense eye contact as she extracted one last knife from her right boot and flung it in Ronon's direction so that it landed at his feet. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms across her chest.

"We're good," he affirmed.

Eva, along with the rest of the team, packed themselves into the bright glow of the jumper and not a moment too soon. With a high-pitched hum, three darts emerged from the thick, low-hanging clouds and headed their way.

"Time to go!" Sheppard declared.

Dr. Beckett was already preparing his surgical implements in the rear compartment, Sheppard made his way to the pilot's seat, and McKay took shotgun. Eva collapsed into one of the seats in the back, rested her head against the wall, and let out a sigh of relief. They took off without hesitation and Ronon knelt at her feet to peer into her face.

"All right," he began, "who are you really?"

She shook her head, eyes still closed. "I already told you," she snapped, "I'm your –" She opened her eyes, looked down at him, and immediately recoiled. "Whoa! What the hell?!"

Prompted by her rapid, erratic motion, Ronon drew his gun and aimed it at her head.

"What's wrong with your face?!"

Ronon raised his eyebrows.

Ignoring the lethal weapon hovering just inches from her head, she reached out and roughly patted his features – chin, cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead. Though she had practically lunged at him, he didn't shoot, a fact that surprised him as much as everyone else watching their bizarre exchange. He caught her wrist with his hand and removed it from his face. She was obviously deranged. "What do you think you're –"

"Why do you look like that?"

Ronon glanced over at Teyla who shook her head. Eva followed his sightline and her eyes widened as she took in Teyla's countenance. She directed her eyes to the floor of the aircraft and brought her hand to the top of her back. "Oh my God," she breathed.

She had clearly come to some realization. What realization that was, Ronon didn't know.

"All right, Miss Eva," Dr. Beckett began, Ancient scanner in hand, "let's take a look at this tracker."

She lifted her head, gave Ronon another dubious glance, then stood up in the bumpy craft and turned around. She gripped to the cargo hold straps above her, knuckles white, and stood, legs planted shoulder-width apart, with her back to the doctor. He switched the scanner on and ran it along the top of her spine. The scanner beeped quietly, but Beckett said nothing. Ronon knew the doctor's silence was a bad sign. Beckett turned off the scanner and returned it to his pocket.

"Well?" Eva prodded, glancing over her shoulder. "Can you get it out?"

Beckett shared a quick glance with Ronon who found his own stomach twisting into a knot. "Not easily…I'm afraid," he admitted. "I'm sorry, but it looks like the device is attached to your brainstem."

"So?" she retorted.

Beckett was taken aback. "So? So I can't perform surgery to remove it in the back of a flying jumper with a fleet of Darts and a bloody Wraith Cruiser on our tail! It would be foolhardy."

She spun around and faced him. "So fry it!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Like Dr. Keller did with that other runner…"

"Dr. Keller?" Beckett echoed.

"That—that Kiryk guy or whatever his name was. Hit me with the paddles and fry the circuits!"

"But that would stop your heart," he protested.

"I don't give a fuck! I need this thing out of me, even if it kills me!" She looked to Ronon. "Dad, you understand. You have to explain to him –" She stopped herself short and clutched her back with her hand. "No," she breathed. "No, no, no."

"What?" Ronon asked.

"It's burning," she whispered. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths. "It's heating up. You have to fry it!" she yelled at Beckett.

"Heating up?"

"Yes! It's heating up! It's activating!" She released an inhuman scream of agony and dropped to her knees. "Hit me with the paddles!" she roared.

"I will do no such –"

"Fry it! Fry it or I disappear! Everything will change and you will be gone and I'll disappear!"

"Disappear?" Beckett whispered.

"God dammit!" She looked up at Ronon and the doctor from the floor of the jumper, eyes bloodshot and wide with terror.

Something in Ronon's heart softened. "Do it," he growled. "Do it before it's too late."

Relief washed over her face and for the briefest of moments, Ronon glimpsed not the warrior, but the young girl she actually was. She swiftly removed her jacket and cast it to the side. Then, with no shyness or embarrassment that should otherwise be typical for her age and circumstance, she pulled her grubby shirt off and added it to the pile with her military jacket. The state of her bruised and scarred body sent a wave of nausea through Ronon's gut; her skin, paper thin, stretched tautly across her collarbone and hips, and her ribs protruded so far he could easily count every single one. Starvation had taken a brutal toll on her; if they hadn't found her when they did, she probably wouldn't have lasted much longer. She grasped at a silver chain around her neck, drew it over her head, and dropped it to the floor.

In the meantime, the doctor prepared the defibrillator, charged it full of electricity and rubbed the paddles together. "Lie back," he ordered.

The girl did as she was told. "Hurry," she winced.

Beckett pushed the straps of her bra to the side, then tentatively brought the paddles to her chest. "Clear," he announced.

Ronon stepped back.

The shock of the defibrillator brought a deafening silence to the cabin. Beckett felt for a pulse in her neck, then flipped her body onto its side. He scanned her with the Ancient device and nodded. "It's been disabled."

"It's disabled?" Sheppard confirmed from the cockpit.

"Aye. I'm not getting a signal. It shouldn't broadcast her location anymore."

"Roger that. Switching shields for cloak."

The doctor settled Eva onto her back, felt again for a pulse, and began CPR. He leaned over her body, straightened his arms, and pressed the heel of his hand so hard into her chest, Ronon feared one of her fragile ribs would crack beneath the pressure. Her body rocked with the force of his compressions, head banging roughly against the metal floor with each one. Teyla rushed over to help, knelt down, and cradled the girl's head in her hands. The familiar frustration of uselessness crept through Ronon's neck and shoulders as he stood and watched, meanwhile debating whether he should move to the forward compartment where he would perhaps be of more assistance. He found it difficult to tear himself away from the scene in front of him. Though he didn't know the girl, they both shared a mutual trauma, and for that reason alone he wanted her to make it. She deserved to be able to experience her freedom.

"Holy shit!" Sheppard exclaimed as the jumper lurched to the left. "That was way too close!"

Ronon headed to the front. It was best not to get too invested in the kid's fate. "What's going on?"

"Doc, you sure that thing isn't transmitting?"

"The scanner indicated it wasn't," Beckett replied through gritted teeth as he continued compressions.

"Well they can definitely still see us!"

"I did wha' I could." His Scottish brogue thickened, a sure sign he was in distress. Apparently, the girl wasn't reviving as quickly as he hoped. "Now if ye'd leave me be, I'm tryin' to save the lass's life."

The jumper swerved again as another Dart-fired missile nearly struck them.

"Okay. That's enough of that. I'm turning our shield back on," the colonel declared.

"Teyla, go into my kit and find the epinephrine," Beckett said.

She nodded, searched for the medicine in question, and handed it to the doctor. He briefly stopped his compressions and, with a quiet hiss, injected the drug into Eva's neck.

"Rodney, dial the farthest planet from here you can think of," Sheppard ordered as he dipped the jumper to evade another projectile.

"What do you mean 'farthest?'"

"What do you mean what do I mean? One that's really far away!"

"Any other requirements?"

"Hospitable, preferably." The sarcasm in Sheppard's voice was outmatched only by his frustration with McKay's inopportune questions. "And not crawling with Wraith."

"Well that could be any dozen –"

"Move," Ronon grunted, pushing his way to the cockpit and punching a seven-symbol address into the DHD interface.

"I'm gonna try and lose as many of 'em as I can in the cloud cover, then we'll drop low and go through the gate," Sheppard explained. "If a few Darts follow us through, no big deal – we can take 'em. We just need to put some distance between us and the Cruiser. Even if they can still track her, the Cruiser will have no choice but to travel by hyper speed. By the time they catch up with us, you'll already have that tracker removed, right Doc?"

Ronon glanced over his shoulder at Beckett who had fallen backward onto his heels and was wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Teyla was helping Eva, dazed but alive, to sit up. "Aye," Beckett sighed. "Get me some more personnel and supplies once we're there, and I think I can manage that."

Sheppard lowered the jumper from the relative safety of the clouds and navigated them through the rubble of the city Ronon once called home, past derelict apartments, past the library, past the bank, past the street corner where Melena had first kissed him, until the shimmering blue waves of the Ring of the Ancestors engulfed them completely.


	13. A Familiar Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva is taken back to Atlantis where she sees some new faces and some very familiar ones.

She had exchanged one form of imprisonment for another.

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. She would take being kept under lock and key within the safety of the City of the Ancestors over being hunted day and night by life-sucking predators. They had rescued her, after all, and following a long and demanding surgery, they had successfully removed her tracker. They had even offered her a hot meal; or rather, some of their leftover MREs. She should be grateful. But somehow, none of that managed to take the sting from the cold metal clapped around her wrists.

They had wrapped someone's bandana over her eyes while they dialed their home address – as if she didn't already know it by heart anyway – and shoved her, blind and cuffed, through the event horizon. After the instantaneous shock of cold, the hum of an active Stargate, the beeping of machines, and the quiet, characteristic chatter of Atlantis gate room technicians met her ears. Before she could even crack a smile at the welcome familiarity, the cloth was removed from her eyes. Colonel Sheppard and Ronon flanked either side of her, each gripping tightly to one of her arms. After two months of total solitude, struggling for survival, she expected to finally feel safe and protected with her father at her side, but now his presence lacked its usual reassurance.

The rest of their team, as well as the extra medical personnel sent to assist Dr. Beckett for her surgery, were already finding their way back to the armory and the infirmary. Her pupils adjusted to the brightness of the room to behold a middle-aged bald man with big ears and thin-rimmed glasses standing directly in front of her.

"This is the Runner?" he asked Colonel Sheppard.

"This is her," he confirmed. "Where do you want her?"

He returned his spectacled eyes back to her and looked her up and down. "Interrogation Room 1."

"Interrogation?" she repeated.

He gave a nod to Sheppard and her father who rotated her body toward the stairs.

She planted her feet as best as she could against the slippery floor. "But I live here. This is my home!" She looked about the gate room. "I was raised here!"

"And yet none of us seem to recognize you," he replied with a simple shake of the head. "Care to explain that, young lady?"

"Not to you," she retorted as she stared directly at the man. "I don't even know you. Who are you, anyway? Where's Carter?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Samantha Carter?"

"No. Jimmy Carter." She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Samantha Carter!"

The man noiselessly mouthed the word _Jimmy_, blinked a few times, then shifted his gaze back to Sheppard. "You said you found this girl on Sateda?"

Sheppard tilted his head to the side. "I told you she knows things."

"Apparently so…" he murmured before straightening his back. "Very well. All the more reason to interrogate her. We need to figure out what she knows. Take her away."

The two men pushed her forward, down the stairs, and out of the gate room.

"Let go of me. This isn't fair!" she hollered as they disappeared behind a corner and down a long hallway. "Young lady, my ass," she muttered, craning her neck over her shoulder to make eye contact with Sheppard. "So no one believes me?"

"We just need to confirm your story," Sheppard explained.

"And until then you're gonna lock me up? You've gotta be kidding me."

"We're just going to put you under observation." Sheppard's voice strained with the effort to remain calm as she struggled against him.

"Dad!" She turned and looked pleadingly toward Ronon. "You can't let them do this!"

He refused to meet her gaze. "Look, I don't know who you are," he replied with a dismissive shake of the head. "And don't call me that."

She roared loudly, grappling with her restraints and would-be rescuers turned captors.

"Easy. Calm down or we'll have to sedate you again," Sheppard warned. "You're gonna tear those stitches on your back."

"Like I give a –" She released a grunt and donkey kicked Sheppard in the shin.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, hopping onto one foot.

She felt the barrel of the gun against her temple before she heard the beep marking the switch from kill to stun.

The snarl of her father's voice met her ears. "I wouldn't do that again."

Turning her head so the muzzle pointed directly between her eyes, she peered up at him. "You and I both know that's set to stun."

"And you're a tiny, weak, starving little girl. You might not survive a stun blast."

"I am not weak! And you would nev -"

"You wanna put it to the test?" He bared his teeth and shoved the gun into the skin of her forehead.

"Look, kid," Sheppard intervened, "you come willingly and we'll get you anything you want to eat…provided we have it here."

She angled her face down and away from the blaster and listened with baited breath to the Colonel behind her, mouth watering and her stomach growling; she hoped they hadn't heard it, too.

"But if you struggle, we're gonna have to either stun you or sedate you and you know what they say: you should always wait at least thirty minutes between eating and being stunned."

Head bowed, she weighed her options. After a few seconds, she lifted her face with the intent to cooperate but instead laid eyes on a young woman with dark red hair about thirty feet away from them. Side-by-side with a man who also had blue stripes on his uniform, both were bent over a tablet and deep in discussion as they walked briskly toward an intersecting corridor.

Forgetting the gun still aimed at her head, forgetting the offer Sheppard had made her, she lunged forward, only to be yanked back by sheer military muscle.

Her heart jumped in her chest at the familiar sight. "Mom!" she called out.

The woman continued to walk away.

She tried to wriggle away from her escorts. "Mom!" she yelled louder.

Still no response.

She growled. "Emma!"

The woman finally glanced up from the tablet and knitted her brows upon locating the source of her name. She bade farewell to her colleague, changed direction, and headed their way.

"Mom?" Sheppard asked with astonishment, looking down at Eva, then back up to Emma.

Emma wasted no time on greetings or pleasantries. "Who is this?" She regarded Eva with a confused expression on her face. "How do you know my name?"

It would seem that teenage girls weren't a common sight in this Lantean city, and were an even rarer prisoner.

"This is the Runner we found on Sateda," Ronon answered hastily.

"And she's claiming to be Ronon's daughter," Sheppard elaborated.

Emma's eyes widened, then traveled from Eva's face to the particle magnum still pressed to her temple. "I see…" she breathed, gaze lingering on the weapon.

"Well…Ronon's and yours apparently," Sheppard added.

"What?" Emma hissed. Her eyebrows shot straight up and her eyes flickered over to Ronon's.

The glance they shared was fleeting, but the awkwardness of it was missed by no one.

Eva narrowed her eyes. "Hang on," she started, "you two aren't even together?" She looked from her father and then over to her mother and back. "Oh, this is so fucked up."


	14. The Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva is interrogated and reveals some surprising information.

Mr. Woolsey, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Rogers and Ronon congregated in the observation deck overlooking the interrogation room, their own reflections staring back at them through the thick glass window. Eva sat down below, her legs tied to the chair and her wrists held together in a pair of long-chained handcuffs that afforded her a bit more movement than the standard ziptie. Hunched over the table, her head rested on her crossed forearms, face hidden from view.

"This is ridiculous," Dr. Rogers muttered under her breath. She turned her back to the window and leaned against it as if to rid her mind of the pathetic scene below.

Sheppard stepped closer to her. "We need to figure out who she is."

"And that can wait," she argued. "She's clearly exhausted, emaciated, recovering from major surgery and most likely delirious. I'm sorry, but what we need is for her to eat a big meal and get some rest." She waved a dismissive hand. "Interrogate her later."

Ronon scoffed and she glared back at him in return. The linguist had apparently believed this girl's delusional load of crap and was now determined to play mommy.

"I assure you Dr. Beckett has cleared her for questioning, Dr. Rogers," Mr. Woolsey replied.

Rogers folded her arms and shifted her stern glance from Ronon over to Woolsey. "But are the restraints really necessary? She's just a kid."

"A dangerous kid." Sheppard gingerly shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "You should take a look at the bruise on my shin."

She crinkled her nose. "I think I'll have to pass."

"You didn't see her fight, Rogers." Sheppard's tone quickly lost its usual good-natured humor. "She took down a Wraith soldier, single-handed, armed with nothing but a knife. And I doubt it was the first time she had to do that."

"Fine. She's dangerous." She lifted her shoulders in concession. "That aside, we can't even get a bed in there for her? She's been on the run for months and now we're making her sleep on some hard, plastic chair with a cold metal table for a pillow?"

Ronon had heard enough. "As long as she's safe, she won't mind one more night without a bed."

"And how do you know?" she said, rounding on him.

He straightened to his full stature and turned to face her. "Believe me," he peered straight down into her face, "I know."

Rogers seemed to shrink away from him and, taking a step backward, Ronon felt a trace of regret for using his size and presence to intimidate her. Upon recognizing he spoke from experience, though, her eyes softened and she took a calming breath.

"We could at least have the decency to roll an infirmary bed in there for her. Strap her to it if you need to, but the poor girl needs sleep."

"Doctor, I would remind you, due to the…unusual circumstances of this situation, you have been specially invited to watch this interrogation," Woolsey said. "You'll notice the other half of Colonel Sheppard's team isn't even here. Now, if you can't control your emotions, then I'm afraid that I'll have to ask you to leave."

Her fair skin blushed pink. "Sorry, sir," she said, turning around again to look through the observation window.

Ronon stared at Dr. Rogers whose own eyes fixated on Eva below. The opposite nature of their jobs meant they didn't interact much with each other, but in the time he had known her, he had never seen her lose her cool like that before. By this point, her cheeks and neck glowed bright red. He roused himself from his thoughts as he found himself wondering what else might make her flush like that.

Movement in the corner of the interrogation room caught his eye as Major Lorne and two armed guards entered. The guards found their place at the door, whereas Lorne took the empty seat across from the girl.

She lifted her face toward him, chin on her forearms. "Hi, Colonel Lorne."

His eyes narrowed. "It's _Major_ Lorne, actually," he corrected.

She shrugged and closed her eyes. "If you say so."

"I'm here to ask you a few questions."

"I'd rather sleep." With her cheek pressed firmly against her arm, her words came out muffled.

Rogers clicked her tongue as if to say "I told you so."

"I'll try to be quick, then," Lorne replied.

The girl quietly snorted. "I bet women love it when you say that to them," she quipped, eyes still shut.

Lorne looked up to the crowd in the observation room, outstretched his arms in disbelief, and shook his head. "She's clearly still drugged up," he called.

Ronon scratched uncomfortably at one of his dreads while Rogers stared fixedly at the floor, trying to hide the bemused expression on her face.

"Beckett did have to sedate her again," Sheppard explained. "She was making one hell of a racket and we were afraid she was gonna tear her stitches or hurt herself even more."

"Proceed anyway, Major," Woolsey spoke into the microphone.

Lorne sighed and nodded. "All right. Here we go. Please state your full name."

"What's with Bert and Ernie?" she asked, tilting her head in the direction of the guards stationed at the door.

"Just a precaution," Lorne assured her. "Now, your name, Miss."

"Eva…Michelle…Dex," she replied slowly.

Ronon heard Rogers take in a quick breath of air. "My sister's name is Michelle," she said to no one in particular.

He looked curiously over to her, then back into the interrogation room. Coincidence. It had to be.

"Michelle?" Lorne asked. "Sounds like an Earth name."

"That's because it's my aunt's name," Eva explained, slurring her words. "And she's from Earth."

"Oh my God," Rogers breathed.

Ronon's stomach did a flip. No. There was no possible way.

"And you said your parents are…?"

"Weapons Specialist Ronon Dex of Sateda and Doctor Emma Jane Rogers, linguist…of Texas. That's on Earth," she said in a disparaging stage whisper.

Lorne inhaled deeply in an attempt to maintain the tenuous grip he still had on his patience. "I know where Texas is, thank you."

Sheppard took a sidelong glance at Ronon and the linguist. "Now you two are sure you never…?" He gestured suggestively back and forth between them.

Ronon raised just one eyebrow and shook his head.

Rogers's reaction was a bit more emphatic. "No!" she exclaimed. Had she been wearing a strand of pearls around her neck, she would have clutched at them. 

Sheppard waved both of his hands in front of him in apology. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult your Southern sensibilities… _ma'am_," he tacked on. "Just trying to get the whole picture here."

"Well, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd stop picturin' it." She crossed her arms self-consciously across her chest.

"How old are you?" Lorne continued, ignorant to the conversation taking place on the deck up above.

"Sixteen."

"Date of birth?"

Eva finally opened her eyes, lifted her head, and regarded Lorne with surprising lucidity. "Like according to Earth time or Standard Pegasus Log Time?"

"Why don't you give us both?"

"I was born in Atlantis on Day 3725 SLPT…STLP…S…" she took a deep breath, "Standard Pegasus Log Time, or May 12, 2013 according to the Earth calendar."

A rush of blood flooded Ronon's head and thundered in his ears. 2013 was five years into the future. That would certainly explain a lot. Stranger things had happened to them.

"2013?" Lorne repeated, brows pinched together with confusion. "What year do you think it is?"

"I honestly have no clue." Eva shook her head. "All of you look so young. So y'all either got _lots_ of beauty sleep while I was away, or it's not the year I think it is."

"Okay," Lorne pressed on, "let me rephrase the question. What year was it when you were captured by the Wraith?"

She sighed. "It was 2029."

Lorne's eyes widened and he leaned back. "It's not 2029."

Eva forced a breath of air through her nose in an attempt at laughter. "No shit."

"It's 2008, Eva."

Eva brought a hand to her temple, closed her eyes and shook her head. "What the hell is going on?" she whispered.

"Tell us about your capture."

She opened her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest.

A chill traveled up Ronon's spine as he glimpsed Dr. Rogers's reflection in the glass, her body language the perfect mirror of the girl's below.

"Why?" Eva asked with suspicion.

"Maybe we know who did this to you."

She sighed. "Did you know that I have the Ancient gene just like you and Sheppard?" 

Lorne shook his head.

"I do," she nodded, her eyes slightly crossed. "Because I stole it. I stole a vial of it from the infirmary and injected myself with it."

"I don't see what this has to do with your capture by the Wraith."

"I'm getting there!" she whined with frustration. "What happened was, I stole the gene and my dad found out and he was pissed. We got into a huge fight and so I ran off, stole some supplies from the armory, knocked out the jumper bay guards, took one of the Puddle Jumpers for a joyride, and crashed said Jumper on the mainland.

"Do you now perhaps understand the necessity of the restraints?" Woolsey asked Rogers.

She sighed and reluctantly nodded. "Yeah," she admitted.

"Then my dad found me but there were Wraith on the mainland and we got picked up and I got turned into a Runner and well…here I am. Can I go to bed now?"

"Not yet."

"Ugh, you're the _worst_!" she groaned, her head falling back onto her forearms.

Sheppard coughed quietly into his fist. "Beckett did say the sedative might cause mood swings," he muttered.

"A common side effect of being a teenage girl, as well, I'm afraid," Woolsey added.

"Tell us more about the Wraith ship that picked you up," Lorne said.

"It was a Cruiser." Her voice echoed against the steel of the table. "It was a souped up Cruiser that could see through our cloaks and had special beaming technology."

"Explains why they could still see our Jumper even when it was cloaked," Sheppard said. "Guess we didn't need to take out her tracker, after all."

"It beamed up the entire Jumper. They…they put us into cocoons." Her voice caught in her throat. "The Wraith commander chose me first. He started to feed on me but decided I was more value to him as a Runner. They took me to the lab and there was a man there." She peeked up at Lorne.

"A man?" Lorne clarified. "Another prisoner?"

She shook her head. "No. He called the Wraith his master. He…he had the Ancient gene, too. He had a bunch of Ancient technology, some of it I'd never seen before. He's the one who created the tracker they put in me," she explained, tears starting to well in her eyes. "I don't…I don't think it was a normal tracker."

"What do you mean it's not a normal tracker?" Lorned asked.

Eva, absorbed in the memory, ignored his question. "They put the tracker in me," she recalled, "and they sent me to some desert planet and I knew I needed to find my way to Sateda so my dad could find me but he never did," she cried. "He never came for me! I waited and I waited but he never came!" Even from the deck, Ronon could see the tears falling down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hand and released a sob.

"That's enough," Rogers whispered.

He glanced over to her and saw that she, too, had a sheen of tears forming along her lower lashes.

"Stop the interrogation," she demanded. "She's had enough for now."

Woolsey nodded almost imperceptibly and spoke into the microphone. "Thank you, Major Lorne. We'll continue with this later."

Lorne reached across the table to place his hand on top of the girl's, but she yanked her hand from his reach. He splayed his fingers across the table instead. "You're safe now, Eva," he assured her.

Rogers sniffed, swallowing her emotion, and mustered every ounce of authority she possessed as she turned to face Woolsey. "What about that bed?"

"There will be no need," he told her.

She opened her mouth to argue but he spoke over her.

"I'll make sure we transfer her to guest quarters and post a guard at her door."

She blinked in surprise, but eventually nodded. "Thank you." She turned on her heel and hurried out of the room.

Woolsey and Sheppard discussed the logistics of finding Eva an empty room as well as a security detail until they, too, departed. A moment later in the interrogation room below, undoubtedly beckoned by the city's commander and the Colonel, Lorne got up from his seat and exited through the pneumatic door.

Apart from the two silent guards who seemed to fade into the walls like fixtures of the room, Eva was left alone. Ronon watched her bony shoulder blades shake while she wept and he was once again struck by how little she was. Time travel and tall tales aside, her small stature alone made it nearly impossible to believe that she could be in any way related to him. But if it was true…if what she said to Lorne was true, then he only had five years. Five short years and he would be a father – a father to a baby girl.

He shook his head, turned his back on her, and started on the path to the sparring room. There had to be another explanation.


	15. No Place Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva wakes up in her new quarters on Atlantis and reacquaints herself with civilization.

It had taken five days, four nights, and three Wraith kills before Eva even dared to sleep for the first time while running on Sateda. Lucky for her, that first night of slumber had been an uneventful one – other nights would not prove the same. She remembered the next morning, waking up slowly, already picturing the drawings taped to her bedroom walls, basking in the luxurious warmth of her fur blankets, smelling the rich aroma of her mother's coffee brewing in their kitchenette down the hallway…until it all hit her. Her eyes flashed open in the early morning light and, with a sinking heart, she found herself precisely where she had collapsed from exhaustion the night before: alone on the floor of a damp cave, huddled into a ball next to the ashes of a long-extinguished fire.

On her first morning back in Atlantis, she once again awoke alone and disoriented. Sitting up slowly, she tried to dust away the cobwebs that clung to the corners of her mind, and kept her gaze focused to a tiny spot on the blank wall across the room. If she were being perfectly honest, she felt a lot like she had the day after Torren Emmagan's secret coming-of-age party. She rubbed her forehead to ease the throbbing and wondered just how much sedative they used on her the night before. Due to her Satedan roots, she had always required a higher-than-average dosage of almost all Earth medications, but now that she barely weighed more than a large sack of tava beans, she questioned the wisdom of tranquilizing her with enough haloperidol to bring down a horse.

She looked down and noticed the bed was still made. It was probably for the best that she had passed out on top of the covers instead of in between them, as she was still fully clothed, boots and all, and absolutely filthy. Only her shirt, which had been replaced for sanitary reasons after her off-world surgery, was clean. Everything else was either encrusted with dirt and dried sweat or stained with blood. She gingerly pushed herself off the standard-issue military mattress and ambled to a small table and chair in a corner of the room. Atop the table she found a protein bar, which she immediately ripped open and sunk her teeth into, a few bottles of water, and a note that said, "Tell the guard when you need breakfast." Her eyes moved to the chair where a steel gray jumpsuit, as well as some cotton undershorts and a sports bra, lay draped over its arm. And on the floor, a new pair of shiny black leather boots.

She then ventured into the small bathroom and realized, even beyond a hot meal, she wanted nothing more than a real shower. Though she had afforded herself a few quick trips to the river to rinse off the grease and grime while on Sateda, she had never thought to nick any soap from the abandoned homes in the city. With a fleeting tinge of excitement, she took stock of the few toiletries arranged on the counter for her: a small tube of toothpaste, a disposable toothbrush, a stick of deodorant, a bar of soap, and a bottle of shampoo. But no conditioner, no razor, no hairbrush.

"Men," she muttered with a sigh. She hadn't expected manicures and bubble baths, but some consideration of her femininity would have been nice.

Disrobing from the bottom up, she first tossed her dirty boots into her sleeping quarters, followed by her socks and jeans, and winced when the fabric of her shirt tugged against her raw stitches as she pulled it over her head. She turned to inspect the incision in the mirror, but stopped short, startled by the sight in front of her. The drastic change in her weight was no surprise – she hadn't needed a mirror to tell her she was dying of starvation – but she hardly recognized her own face; the angles of her jaw were sharper, her cheeks gaunt, her eye sockets sunken. She looked skeletal…weak.

Not wanting to see the pitiful stranger in the mirror any longer, she lowered her head and shook her hair out of its braids, bits of leaves and debris falling onto the bathroom floor as she unwove each tangled strand. She caught one last glimpse of her withering body and greasy hair in the mirror, and suddenly recalled an image of a coyote she had seen on one of her trips to Texas. Hit by a car, fur matted with blood and mange, she remembered how its body convulsed as it fought for its final breaths on the side of the road. She shook her head to rid her mind of the comparison. Grabbing the soap and shampoo, she stepped into the already warm cascade of water, closed her eyes, and relished the marvel of indoor plumbing.

* * *

With a small part of her humanity restored, she got out of the shower only once she realized her hunger in combination with the sedative hangover and the hot steam were making her dizzy. Slipping in the shower and splitting her head open on the tub – what a way to go that would be after surviving the Wraith for two months straight. Trying to ignore the ring of dirt that had accumulated along the bottom edge of the shower floor, she dried off, and put on the jumpsuit provided for her. Although it was far too large and definitely no fashion statement, at least she hadn't needed to remove it from the long-rotted corpse of a fallen Satedan soldier. Smelled better, too.

She strolled back to the bed, leisurely twisting her damp hair into a side braid to keep it from rubbing against the cut on her back, and stopped at the nightstand to pick up her silver necklace. But it wasn't there. Forced by habit, she grasped at her neck in vain as she began a frantic search of the room for the cherished piece of jewelry. She checked under pillows, between sheets, in the pockets of her discarded jeans, on the floor, everywhere until the room was completely torn apart. But it was nowhere. She had no idea what had happened to it. If she hadn't set it down on the nightstand before falling asleep, where else would it be?

She needed that necklace. She couldn't remember a day in her life she hadn't worn it. Her father had given her that necklace.

Coursing blood thrummed against her eardrums as she imagined him on the Cruiser, trapped inside the cocoon, murder in his eyes, slamming his body against the thick webbing to reach her. That was the last she had seen of him. A nagging doubt she had struggled to keep at bay throughout her entire time as a Runner burst through her gates of self-preservation: what if her father had failed to find her on Sateda not because she was too far away, too hard to find, but because he never made it off that Cruiser?

After all, it was Eva's rash and rebellious actions that had lured him out of the safety of the city in the first place. It was her fault they had gotten captured. And if he had been killed, if he had been fed upon, that would be her fault, too.

The walls of her quarters – of her cell – closed in on her. She needed air. Staggering to the opposite side of the room, she reached for the latch of the window but discovered there wasn't one. Her vision blurred as she searched the room for something, anything, to pry it open. She balled up her hand, snatched her old shirt off the floor, wrapped it tightly around her fist, and drove it straight through the stained crystal. With the soft clinking of broken glass, a cool and healing breeze wafted into the room. Eyes closed, she pressed her forehead to the wall and breathed deeply, listening to the ebb and flow of the waves below, and hoped with all her heart that her father, her _real_ father, was listening to the same waves.


	16. The Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Beckett reveals the results of Eva's DNA test.

Ronon paced from one gurney to the next as he, Dr. Beckett, and Col. Sheppard waited together in the infirmary. "It's been ten minutes," he groaned. "Who else are we waiting for?"

Beckett, tablet in hand, didn't bother to look up to reply. "Just Mr. Woolsey and Dr. Rogers now."

"And it's only been five minutes," Sheppard corrected as he poked at a tray of surgical tools.

Beckett slapped his hand.

"Ow! Whatever happened to 'do no harm?'" he exclaimed, shaking the sting out of his fingers before lifting his eyes to look at the doctor. "Hang on, Rogers is coming too?"

"Aye," Beckett said with a coy smile.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "Carson, is this infirmary about to turn into an episode of _Jerry Springer_?" His eyes darted ever-so-quickly over to Ronon.

Beckett pretended to be even more engrossed in his tablet. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're implying, Colonel."

Ronon looked back and forth between Beckett and Sheppard, frowning. There was something they weren't saying. "Jerry who?" he repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't worry about it." Sheppard patted him on the back in what would be a reassuring gesture, but Ronon didn't much care for the mischievous expression on his face.

"If you two don't tell me what the hell you're talking about..." He leaned against one of the beds and crossed his arms across his chest, but their conversation was brought to a halt by the sound of approaching voices – that of a man and a woman - coming down the hall.

"So she's still resting then?" the woman asked.

"Yes, we wanted to continue our interview with her but…thought it was best to let her sleep instead."

Mr. Woolsey and Dr. Rogers, with a genuine smile on her face, entered the infirmary. "That was very kind," she said. "I'm sure she appreciates it."

"Yes, well," he sighed, "even bureaucrats like me have a soft spot for starving children… cantankerous as she may be," he added with a small smirk. He then turned his head to address the crowd in front of him. "Good morning everyone."

"Morning, sir," Sheppard responded with a small nod. "Doctor."

Ronon glanced over to Sheppard and watched his gaze travel up, down, and back as he surveyed the linguist. His stomach clenched slightly and, stretching to relieve the sensation, he looked back at Woolsey who had directed his attention to Beckett.

"I hear you have some news, Doctor?"

"Aye," he nodded. "As you know, we took a sample of Eva's blood while we were performing surgery on her…"

"Good thing she was unconscious while you did it, too," Sheppard muttered. "She probably woulda bit your fingers off if she'd been awake."

"She's a feisty one, that's for certain," Beckett laughed softly. "Anyway, I took the sample and ran her DNA – twice." He nodded for emphasis, raising his eyebrows. "Ronon…Dr. Rogers..." He clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. "Congratulations! It's a girl."

His buoyant expression was met with wide eyes from the group around him.

Woolsey cleared his throat. "Now is perhaps not the best time for jokes, Doctor," he said quietly. "What exactly are you telling us?"

"I'm tellin' you the lass is precisely who she says she is. I compared her DNA to what we have on file for both of you," he looked at Ronon and Emma, "and she shares 49% of her genetic makeup with you, Dr. Rogers, and 51% with you, big man."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What?"

Having spoken simultaneously, they exchanged an uncomfortable look with one another.

"Though after seeing how she fought off all those Wraith the other day, I doubt you really needed confirmation from me," Beckett chuckled to Ronon.

Ronon was grateful to already be leaning against something for he felt suddenly lightheaded. None of this made sense. He chanced a glimpse over to Dr. Rogers, who looked about the same way he felt.

She brought both of her hands to her temples and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but how is this possible?" she breathed.

Sheppard tilted his head and thoughtfully gazed upward. "Well, when a man and a woman –"

Rogers waggled a scolding finger at him. "Don't you dare."

"During her interview yesterday, she did claim to be coming to us from the year 2029," Woolsey suggested.

"And we're believing that?" Ronon asked.

Woolsey shook his head. "What other explanation is there? We can't deny that we've seen stranger."

"So she... hopped on some Pegasus Galaxy space DeLorean and jumped over twenty years back in time?" Sheppard asked with a dubious frown.

"Space what?" Rogers hissed.

"You know, like in _Back to the Future_."

Emma shook her head at him. "Never seen it."

"Oh, come on!" he shouted with exasperation. "That one's a classic, too. Came out in 1985. I remember, because it was the 4th of July and I was just learning how to drive –"

"I was two," Emma interrupted.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Sheppard thrust his hands into his already messy hair and turned his back to the group.

When the occasion was different, Ronon was going to have to taunt him mercilessly for all of this. It wasn't often that Sheppard's usual boyish charm failed to woo a woman, but Rogers clearly considered him less a boy and more a fossil.

"I think the colonel's got a point," Beckett chimed in. "Maybe she's traveled to the past to try to get her parents together, thereby ensuring her own future existence," he mused romantically, looking back and forth between the Satedan and the linguist.

"Oh, please," Rogers said with an eye roll. 

Woolsey spoke up. "I don't know about all of that, but I don't think we should rule out time travel altogether. Like I said, we've seen stranger," he reasoned. "We'll speak with her again later today to see what we can find out. And we'll get Dr. McKay working on some possible theories. Is he in possession of the tracking device you removed from her or do you still have it?"

"I'll send it over straight away," Beckett replied.

"Thank you, Doctor. Take your lunch early everyone, and we'll continue her interrogation right after at noon." Woolsey nodded to the group and took his leave.

Sheppard and Ronon filed out of the infirmary together behind Woolsey, who soon vanished into a transporter, but the sound of quick footsteps behind them made them both turn around.

It was Dr. Rogers.

"Wait!" She stopped in front of both of them, then looked over to Sheppard. "Can I have a moment alone?" she began.

Sheppard smirked.

"With Ronon?" she finished, her eyes shifting to him.

His smirk dissolved and he nodded, then thumped Ronon on the back. "See you in the mess." He heard Sheppard release a sigh as he disappeared around the corner.

"What's up?" He placed his thumbs through his belt loops and leaned slightly backward as he looked down at her.

She reached around to the side of her neck and swept all of her hair over her shoulder, wafting the piercing but floral scent of lavender up toward him. After glancing very briefly at the ground, she lifted her eyes to his as she spoke.

"Does this whole…Eva situation make things weird between us?"

Ronon shook his head. "There isn't anything between us," he stated matter-of-factly.

"There _wasn't_," she said with a raised eyebrow. "Is there now weirdness… awkwardness?"

"The only thing that's awkward is you talking about it."

She let out a quiet laugh but maintained eye contact and inhaled deeply. "Okay, good. Then I won't talk about it anymore. I just wanted to make sure."

They looked at each other for a moment without saying a word until Ronon began to feel uneasy. Aside from Teyla, most women on base never dared to look him in the eye for more than a few seconds. But Rogers hadn't yet averted her eyes. Damned if he would look away first.

"I remember what you told Sheppard the other day," he eventually said.

She narrowed her eyelids.

"You said you're here to work and not mess around." He transferred his weight from one leg to the other. "I plan on respecting that."

The skin at the edges of her eyes crinkled. "I think you might be the first person to actually take that seriously. Usually when I tell men I'm not interested, they try even harder."

"Men like a challenge," he shrugged.

The left corner of her mouth lifted a touch and she blinked slowly. "But not you?"

He wasn't sure if she had stepped closer to him, but the space between them had definitely shrunk. She studied his face for an instant and Ronon realized they were close enough for him to count the few freckles scattered across her cheeks.

"Women aren't a challenge for me," he declared.

"I bet not," she laughed, gracing him with a grateful smile that reached all the way to her eyes. "Well, thank you for taking me seriously."

He nodded silently in response.

She briefly patted his arm before heading down the corridor and into the transporter.

Once she was gone, Ronon turned to continue on his way to the commissary, trying his best to ignore the lingering heat on his arm where she had touched him.


	17. A Glimpse into the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Lorne continues to interrogate Eva, who reveals more than he bargained for.

"I must say, Ronon, the resemblance is rather striking," Mr. Woolsey observed as he removed his glasses and squinted disapprovingly at the smudged lenses.

"What resemblance?"

"To you, of course." Glasses cleaned with a handkerchief from his pocket, he slipped them back on his face.

Sheppard stood next to their commander, leaning against the window of the observation deck. "Come on, Chewie. We all knew the DNA test was just a formality. Kid looks exactly like you."

Ronon glanced at the girl below in the interrogation room. "I'm twice her size," he argued.

"She's tiny, yeah," Sheppard conceded, "but she probably gets that from Rogers." He looked around the room, then at Woolsey. "Where is she, by the way?"

As Woosley said something about SGA-8 needing a last-minute interpreter, Ronon discovered it didn't take much for him to envision the linguist's body; but beyond the more feminine aspects of her frame he had never paid particularly close attention to her stature. Dark red hair and green eyes, average seemed like the last word he should use to describe someone as physically unique as her; though her prim and proper straight-backed posture always made her appear taller, he supposed she was average height for an Earth woman.

"Rogers isn't _that_ small," he eventually said.

"No, but Eva's still a kid," Sheppard reasoned. "She's probably got more growing to do…"

"Not to mention she's incredibly malnourished," Woolsey added.

"I still don't see it." Ronon crossed his arms across his chest.

Sheppard stared at him and pointed down at Eva who was lounging in her seat, heels propped on the chair in front of her, with her arms crossed identically across her chest as she waited for Lorne to arrive.

Ronon dropped his arms to his sides.

"Told you so," Sheppard taunted.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Lorne opened the door with a tablet and a voice recorder in his hands and, once Eva had dropped her feet to the floor, sat across from her.

"How are your quarters?" he asked.

"Fine."

"And your guards?" Lorne continued. "Are they treating you well?"

"Oh, you mean Tom and Jerry?" She gestured to the stoic men behind her. "Yeah, they're a real hoot." Her voice oozed sarcasm.

"Now that sense of humor," Sheppard commented, "that she must get from her Uncle John."

Ronon glared at him. "You done?"

Sheppard smirked.

"All right, kid," Lorne began, "you ready for round two?"

She took a deep breath and shrugged. "Not like I have a choice," she muttered.

Lorne flipped a switch on the voice recorder and set it on the table between them. "Yesterday you were telling us about how you were captured by the Wraith." He looked down at his tablet. "You said the entire jumper was beamed into the Cruiser, you were placed in cocoons, and then you were taken to the ship's laboratory. You mentioned there was a man – not a Wraith – that controlled the lab. Can you describe him?"

"Yeah," she replied, arms still crossed.

Lorne shook his head, inviting her to share more.

She stared back.

He sighed deeply. "Tall or short?"

"Tall."

"Fat or thin?"

"Really thin."

"Hair color?"

"Brown. Curly. It was starting to recede, kind of like Colonel Sheppard's."

Ronon snorted into a closed fist and Sheppard brought a hand to his head. "My hair's not receding," he said in an indignant whisper as he felt along his hairline and tried to get a glimpse of it in the observation window's reflective surface.

"Eyes?"

"Two of them."

"Very funny," Lorne said, clearly not entertained. "What _color_ were his eyes?"

"Blue? I don't remember. I was a little preoccupied at the time."

"How old?"

"Old." She blinked. "Like you."

Lorne clicked a few buttons on the tablet in front of him and pulled up a picture of the Wraith experiment Michael. "Was this him?"

Eva squinted at the picture and then shook her head. "No."

"Anything else you can tell us about him? Distinguishing marks? What he was wearing?"

Eva shook her head and thought. "He was dressed like the Wraith in a long black cloak and was wearing a necklace with like a big…red amulet attached to it." She sat up straighter in her seat, her demeanor changing entirely. "Hey, speaking of necklaces, I have a silver one that I've always worn and I had it before you found me but now I can't find it. Do you guys have it? It might be with some of my personal effects…maybe with my jacket?"

Ronon thought back to the moment in the jumper right before Dr. Beckett had shocked her with the paddles when she yanked the metal chain over her head and cast it to the side.

Lorne looked toward Woolsey for guidance, who replied with a shake of his head.

"We'll keep an eye out for it," Lorne said. "Now, let's get back to the subject."

Eva slumped back down into her chair, unconvinced by Lorne's offer.

"Anything else you can tell us about the man?"

Eva bit her cheek. "He kinda spoke with an accent," she finally said. "Like an English accent." She lifted one of her shoulders. "That's all I can think of."

Lorne nodded slowly. "Okay. Let's move on. Yesterday you also claimed you didn't think the tracking device the Wraith put in you was a regular tracking device. Why's that?"

"Well, it burned," she recalled.

Ronon mentally agreed; that was odd.

"My dad didn't like to talk about his time as a Runner," she continued with a glance to the side, "but he would mention things…here and there."

Ronon's stomach tightened and he unexpectedly found it difficult to look at her. He wondered what exactly her father had revealed to her and what he chose to keep secret from that dark time in his life. If he had shared even a little with her over her short lifetime, then Eva likely knew him better than anyone else on base – Sheppard and Teyla included – and that was more than a little unsettling.

"He never once mentioned the tracking device burned, so I figured it wasn't normal."

"Did it burn all the time?" Lorne asked.

She shook her head. "No. Only sometimes. Only while it was powering up."

"Powering up?" Lorne repeated. "Powering up for what?"

"At first I wasn't sure. The first time it happened, I thought I was hallucinating from fear or… tainted water. But it kept happening." She fixed her eyes on the table, deep in thought, and pressed a hand to her cheek. "First, the device would heat up, then it would feel like my skin was ripping apart, and then I would lose my vision." She took a breath. "And when I could see again, it was like everything was different. The trees were taller…or…or shorter. Or snow on the ground would suddenly be gone. Anything I had stored up – food, weapons, clothing – would vanish and I'd have to start over. Unless I was wearing it or holding it, it would disappear. At first, I thought they were playing games with me, trying to demoralize me. I thought maybe they were frustrated or bored because I refused to leave Sateda and it was like their way of clearing my slate. But now that I'm here…if it really is 2008, then maybe all that time…every time the tracker activated, maybe I was traveling through time."

"A Wraith with time travel capabilities?" Woolsey murmured. "That could be devastating."

"How many times did the device activate?" Lorne asked.

"I don't know," she answered softly, failing to meet his gaze. "I lost count. There was no pattern to it."

Lorne tilted his head and silently studied her for a moment. Ronon detected the slightest hint of pity fall across his features. "Ok, kid. Tell us a little bit about your time…where you're from."

She finally looked up at the major. "Well…like I said, I was born in Atlantis and grew up here, but we'd sometimes take trips back to Earth to see my mom's family. We would…ride the family's horses, hang out along the river walk, go to Whataburger…" A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "My grandpa always makes me muck the stables and if it's Christmas or Easter time, my grandma forces me to go to mass."

"Mass?" Ronon repeated, turning to Sheppard.

"Religious service," he whispered. "Little bit of singing, little bit of wine, fun little crackers… lots of Catholic guilt."

"I go to school on Atlantis, too," Eva carried on. "Other members of the expedition, not just my parents, have children and so when General Carter became the leader again, she started an education initiative for all of us."

"Hang on, General Carter? As in Samantha Carter?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "When the Wraith came back, the IOA decided they needed someone from the military in command again."

"Whoa, wait a minute. What do you mean 'came back?'"

"The Wraith were defeated about a year before I was born," she explained.

Ronon tried not to perseverate on that timeframe: a dozen months - give or take - between such a life-changing victory, one worthy of intense celebration, and her birth.

"In 2012, then?" Lorne quickly asked.

Eva nodded. "With the Wraith no longer a threat, Mr. Woolsey left and when he was replaced by the guy after him, they activated some… Ancient device and it opened up a bridge between realities. There was one reality where nearly all the humans had been wiped out by the Wraith. The number of them compared to the humans was totally unsustainable, so they fled to other realities, and one of those was ours. We're obviously still fighting them." She paused. "At least…that's what they taught us in history class."

"You learned about things like that in school?" Lorne asked with surprise.

Eva nodded. "I mean, we learn like…math and stuff. Like, I've read _To Kill a Mockingbird_, but we also learned about the history of the expedition, how to speak Wraith and Ancient, Athosian fighting techniques, the seniors learn some astrophysics…"

"Leave it to Colonel Carter…"

Eva risked a tentative smile. "Your classes were okay, I guess."

Lorne raised his eyebrows. "Mine? I was a teacher?"

"Most of the staff tutored us at some point," she shrugged.

"What did I teach?" he asked eagerly, apparently forgetting he was supposed to be interrogating her.

"Elementary art," she answered. "You were great with the younger kids. Painting, and drawing, and sculpting…"

Lorne let out a laugh. "Wow. Like my mom. Who woulda thought…"

"You did give me detention once," Eva revealed.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he asked. "What'd you do?"

"I threw a big, wet piece of clay at the back of Kaden Levine's head and it got stuck in his hair. He deserved it though," she insisted, holding up her index finger.

"I'm sure he did," Lorne chuckled, then paused for a moment. "Wait, do I have any kids?"

"Four," Eva grinned.

"Four?! Holy cow!"

"All girls," Eva laughed. "My um…my mom is really good friends with Dr. Peters and she told me y'all wanted a boy for your last one, but you got twin girls instead."

"Dr. Peters? Hang on, the botanist? Dr. Lacey Peters? Is she… are we…?"

Eva nodded.

He fell back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. "This is the craziest conversation I've ever had."

Woolsey coughed over the microphone. "Can we move this along, please?"

Lorne looked to the observation window. "Sorry, sir." He cleared his throat and tried his best to put on an air of authority once more. "Can you recall any details about the Wraith commander that captured you?"

She closed her eyes. "Green skin…long white hair…" She shrugged. "He looked like a Wraith, Major."

"Any distinctive facial markings or tattoos?"

Eva furrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah, actually. He had a tattoo around his eye…it looked like swirls or…or flames, maybe?"

"A starburst?" Lorne supplied.

Ronon knew where Lorne's thought process was taking him: Todd.

"No," she shook her head.

Maybe not, then.

"They were like flames. Abstract black flames."

Lorne produced a pen and paper from his pocket. "Could you draw it for us?"

"Probably," she answered, then smiled. "I had a pretty good art teacher when I was a kid."


	18. An Ancient Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McKay thinks he knows who is responsible for sending Eva through time. Emma starts to see Ronon in a way she had never before imagined.

"What about this word?"

"Council."

He pointed to another word. "And—and this one?"

"Consequences."

"Okay and, last one I swear, this one?"

"Destroy."

Emma and Dr. McKay huddled over a tablet together in the physicist's lab while Col. Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon hovered close by. She felt a bit out of place, as though she were intruding on their infamous team dynamic, but McKay had specifically requested assistance from the base's foremost expert on Ancient and, as senior linguist, that meant her.

McKay nodded and then hesitated for a moment. "This one?"

"Are you sure you don't want me to translate the whole thing for you?" she offered, trying to take the tablet from him. "It won't take me that long."

"No," he said with a decisive tug of the tablet in his direction. "No, no. That's all I needed."

"Are you at least going to tell me what we're looking at?" she asked, raising an expectant eyebrow. "Knowing the context would definitely help me with the translation."

"Maybe later." He closed the window on his tablet and opened another one.

Emma frowned. "So…then…do you still need me here," she gestured over her shoulder, "or should I go?"

"Uh-huh," McKay replied, completely distracted by the new image on his screen.

Taking that as a dismissal, she got to her feet and started to head toward the door.

"You actually might want to stay," Sheppard called, bringing an end to his own conversation with Teyla and Ronon. "Eva's gonna be here any minute. Apparently, Rodney has a theory about how she got here."

She turned to look back at McKay. "Really?"

The physicist made no indication he had heard her.

"Rodney," Teyla prodded.

McKay glanced up at the group, his eyes shifting from face to face. "What?"

The gentleman he was, Sheppard pulled a stool back out for her. "Might be worth hearing," he shrugged.

From the back of the room, Emma heard Ronon clear his throat and watched as he momentarily turned his back to the group. As she took the seat offered to her by the colonel, Eva entered the lab, her two guards following close behind.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked.

After just a few nights of actual quality sleep and access to running water, she already looked better, Emma thought. The dark shadows under her eyes had lightened to reveal bright hazel irises – rimmed in light green with a brown center – eerily like Ronon's. Her dark brown hair, which she had partially braided, fell straight down her back, untangled, and free of forest debris. She wore a non-descript base uniform, the normally-colored chest patches zipped over with a gray panel to indicate she was a civilian and nothing more. It was a slight improvement over the shapeless jumpsuit she had worn the day before, and a vast improvement over the torn and baggy rags they had found her in. On her right arm, she wore the Atlantis patch, but no patch to denote her nationality on her left. Emma briefly wondered why she wasn't donning the stars and stripes but after a quick moment of thought it dawned on her; maybe because of Eva's father and her place of birth, she wasn't considered an American citizen.

What a concept that was. Ronon Dex, the hot-headed weapons specialist and resident badass, a father? Emma stole a furtive glance in the Satedan's general direction as her mind entertained the thought of him cradling a small pink bundle in his strong, tattooed arms. For a second, his eyes met hers, her stomach lurched, and she quickly looked away.

"Hm?" McKay turned to face the girl. "Oh. Yes. I just had a few quick questions for you." He began tapping the screen of his tablet with the stylus.

Teyla gestured politely to another empty stool. Eva gave her a hesitant smile, sat down, and picked up an artifact from McKay's counter.

He snatched it out of her hands. "Yeah, no. Please don't touch that. Or anything," he scolded.

Eva rolled her eyes, sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. "What's your question, McKay?" Based on the way she spoke to him, it was evident the McKay from her time hadn't changed much from the McKay they all knew and tolerated.

"I listened to the recording of your interrogation with Major Lorne," he continued clicking around on his tablet, "and your description of the man on the Cruiser sounded familiar to me."

"You think you know who he is?" she asked, doubtful.

He rotated the tablet screen away from him, the image of a thin, middle-aged man with brown hair and beady blue eyes staring back at the rest of the group. "Is this him?"

Eva's gaze traveled from McKay's face to the image on the tablet. Her eyes grew. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "That's him! How did you find him? Do you know him?"

"All this talk of time travel got me thinking. So…I searched through some of the Atlantis archives until I found the disciplinary records I was looking for."

"Disciplinary records?" Eva repeated. "Did this guy work on Atlantis?"

"You could say that," McKay replied with a cryptic tilt of his head. "He used to live in this city…ten thousand years ago."

"What?"

"Just get to the point, McKay," Ronon urged.

"This," he pointed to the picture, "is Janus…the Ancient."

Sheppard took the tablet from McKay's hands and scrolled through the file. "Janus?" he echoed. "I thought he was a good guy."

"Chaotic good, is perhaps more accurate," McKay said.

"Was he not the one who helped program the city's failsafe mechanism?" Teyla asked.

"That's him," McKay confirmed.

"That doesn't make any sense, McKay," Ronon said, arms crossed. "What would one of the Ancestors be doing on a Cruiser helping the Wraith?"

"And how could he possibly still be alive?" Teyla added. "Eva, you claimed that he appeared to be in his forties."

Eva nodded. "But that's definitely him," she confirmed, gesturing with her chin toward the tablet in Sheppard's hands.

"Did you say he called the Wraith commander 'master?'" Sheppard asked.

Eva nodded once again.

He silently ruminated for a moment, staring at the tablet. "You guys remember when I was captured by the Genii and thrown in prison with Todd?"

McKay cocked his head. "You don't think…"

"It would make sense," Sheppard said.

Emma looked back and forth between the two men, unable to decipher their seemingly telepathic communication with one another. She shook her head. "What would?" she finally asked. That incident had occurred before her time here.

"We've learned not only can the Wraith can take away life, they can also give it," McKay explained. "They call it the Gift of Life."

Sheppard looked over to Emma and Eva. "After we escaped from the Genii prison, Todd fed on me till I was nearly dead; he needed the strength to take out the remaining soldiers. But, once they were…uh…neutralized, he returned my life to me."

McKay scoffed. "He came out of there looking younger than when he went in."

"He told me the gift was reserved for their brothers," he revealed, "and their most devout worshippers."

"You're saying Janus is a Wraith worshipper?" Ronon asked, making no attempt to conceal his disgust at the thought.

"Can the Gift of Life even extend one's life span that significantly?" Teyla inquired.

"Apparently so," McKay answered. "Couple that with a few intermittent stints in a stasis pod and the fact that Janus was known to have experimented with time travel…who knows how old he really is."

"Did Dr. Weir not tell us that Janus evacuated to Earth with the rest of the Ancients when they abandoned the city?" Teyla interjected.

"She did," McKay nodded. "He did. Who knows? Maybe he tried to travel back to Pegasus – to recover all of his research here – but never made it. It's possible the Wraith intercepted him."

"All right," Sheppard sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "We'll entertain the theory for a minute. Janus is a time traveling Wraith worshipper. _How_ does this help us?"

"Well, we did discover Janus' secret lab a few months ago," McKay explained. "I could sift through his research, try to find a way to get Ronette here back to her own time."

"My name is Eva," she growled.

"Whatever," he muttered, brushing her objection away with a wave of his hand. "These two are your parents, right?" he asked, pointing to them.

It took every ounce of self-control for Emma to keep her eyes from once again wandering over to Ronon. The mere suggestion of them being together…it was surreal. Stomach-turning, heart-poundingly surreal.

"Well…" Eva hesitated. "My parents are like twenty years older, but yeah."

"From what they've told you about how they …you know…got together, did they ever mention anything about you coming back in time or about meeting you before you were born?"

She vigorously shook her head. "Definitely not."

A look of concern fell across McKay's face. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," she said with confidence. "I feel like your teenage daughter traveling through space and time is something you bring up at some point."

"Can you think of any reason they may have hid something like that from you?"

She looked down and to the side and fidgeted with one of her fingers. Emma suspected there was something she wasn't sharing. After a moment, though, Eva gathered her conviction and looked back up at McKay. "I'm sure," she repeated. "When I was little, my dad once told me he was convinced I was going to be born a boy. I don't think he would have believed that if he had already met me before."

"Oh, this is bad," McKay groaned, shaking his head. "It was a bad idea for you to come here."

"I didn't have much say in the matter," she retorted.

"No, you don't understand. At first, I thought this was supposed to happen… that your traveling back in time was meant to ensure the future as you know it – like, like…"

"_Back to the Future_?" Sheppard supplied.

"Don't even get me started on that movie," McKay snapped, raising a finger in warning. "But that's not it." He turned back to Eva. "No, you have completely altered your own timeline, and now ours, by coming back here. This is very very bad."

"Give her a break, Rodney," Emma said. "She's just a kid."

"Causality should not be treated lightly! She could easily be jeopardizing her own existence by coming here." He rounded on Eva again. "No more mentioning the future, and no more fortune-telling stunts like the one you pulled with Lorne in the interrogation room!" he scolded.

"So I should have just given up?" Eva shouted. "I should have just let the Wraith take me and finish me off?!" She jumped off her stool and took a menacing step toward McKay.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma caught Eva's guards reach for their stunners.

"I'm sorry my survival has inconvenienced the future you haven't even experienced yet."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's not just _my_ future, it's –"

"Rodney," Emma gently chided. "She's here now and there's nothing we can about it, so give her a break. What do we have to do to get her back home?"

He took in a short breath. "I need to start going through Janus' research lab," he answered.

"I'll stay and help you translate what you find," Emma offered.

"That really won't be necess—"

"McKay," Sheppard warned, "Dr. Jackson's not here to help you anymore. Let the linguist do her job."

Eva sighed deeply, bowed her head, and pressed the heels of her hands into her forehead. When she finally looked up, she gave her head a rough shake and blinked away her emotions. "Is that all?" she asked McKay.

"Well, I was also hoping that you could –"

"That's all."

Emma looked over her shoulder, surprised to see it was Ronon who had spoken. He harbored a stern expression on his face, silently warning McKay to lay off the girl.

"Cool," Eva swallowed, trying her best to contain herself as she made her way to the exit. "Then uh…I'm gonna get out of here. Simon, Garfunkel," she said to her guards, "let's go."


	19. The Necklace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon finds Eva in the infirmary to make a special delivery and learns more about what the future potentially has in store for him.

He had intended to dine alone that night. It was something he frequently did – he had done it for seven years straight, after all – and had actually come to enjoy. But as he turned away from the buffet line and appraised the commissary, he realized those plans were about to change. Along the far edge of the room, Eva sat alone (aside from her ever-present guards, of course), and stared blankly out the window. Her silver pendant, safe in his pocket, had weighed heavily on him the entire day and it looked like this was finally the chance to rid himself of it.

He wasn't sure what had possessed him to do it – to first figure out which jumper his team had taken on Eva's rescue, to wait for it to return from being off world, and then to finally scour it, stern to bow, until he found the jewelry in question. If he were lying to himself, he would say it was because he had been bored and hadn't had anything better to do. But if he were being honest, it was because he couldn't deny the truth anymore; as impossible as it was to believe, the results of the DNA test irrevocably proved she was his child.

With his free hand, he fiddled with the chain of the necklace, threading it between his fingers as he approached her. He couldn't disagree that they shared certain similarities. They had the same hair, eye, and skin color. She carried herself just like he did, she sat like him, stood like him… she even fought like him. He would never say it out loud, but Sheppard was right; the resemblance between them was strong. But as he got closer, he noticed how the light from the setting ocean sun filtered through the window and onto her brown hair, illuminating fiery shades of copper and mahogany from deep within. It was only a touch of auburn, but enough to remind him she wasn't just his. Every time he looked at the girl, though he absolutely detected aspects of himself in her, he saw Dr. Rogers even more. Eva had her nose, her hands, her voice. And while her scowl could rival his own, her smile – elusive as it was – undeniably matched her mother's.

He set his tray of food onto the table and, torn from her thoughts, she looked up at him with surprise.

"Hey."

"Hey," she greeted with a suspicious lift of an eyebrow.

"Can I sit here?"

"Sure," she shrugged.

He sat across from her and she stared expectantly back at him. "This is weird," he finally said.

"Yeah." Without another word, she returned her gaze oceanward.

Definitely his daughter.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out her necklace, and set it on the table. "This yours?"

At first, she gave it nothing more than a cursory glance; but upon realizing what it was, she instantly perked up in her chair and snatched it off the table. "Where did you find this?" She was already unclasping the chain and placing it around her neck.

"Floor of the jumper," he replied.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Thank you. I thought I'd lost it forever." She took the little placard in her fingers and studied it, as though she were making sure it truly was the same necklace.

"No problem." Ronon surveyed her, looking her up and down, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He glanced down to see a few gnawed chicken bones discarded on her otherwise empty plate, and without a second thought or hesitation, lifted her tray and replaced it with his own.

She looked up from her necklace, at him, down at the tray, then back at him, and furrowed her brow.

"Eat," he ordered. "You're too skinny."

She dropped the pendant from her hand and it fell slack against her chest. "You know, you don't have to pretend to be concerned for me. I know you're not actually my dad."

"No," he agreed, "I'm not. But I was a Runner too, and I know how hungry you still are."

He watched her concentrate, trying to keep her eyes fixed on him and not dart back to the heaping plate of food in front of her.

"I can always get myself more," he offered with a nod of the chin toward the buffet line.

After a brief moment of consideration, she shifted in her seat, picked up a fork and shoveled a small mound of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

He leaned back in his chair and watched her eat for a bit, mesmerized by the miracle of genetics. Any of her features, he could pick one out at random and definitively say whether it came from him or from Dr. Rogers. Ears, his; eyes, his; eyebrows, his (poor girl); lips…hers. Once he realized he was staring, he decided to make an attempt at conversation. "Do you miss 'em?" he asked.

"Who?" she murmured, mouth full of chicken.

"Your parents."

She set the chicken down on the plate, swallowed slowly, and nodded.

"Are they together…in your time?" he asked, trying his best to sound only casually interested.

She frowned. "My parents?" she confirmed. "Are my parents together?"

He nodded.

"Yeah." The tone of her answer indicated that yes, in fact, there was such a thing as a stupid question. "They're married," she revealed, as if it were obvious. "For like, seventeen years or something."

_Seventeen years?_ For some reason, he wanted to believe the kid had been an accident – the product of a one-night thing both of them would have wanted to forget the next day. But it wasn't that at all. Where she was from, he had a wife, a marriage…and an evidently successful one at that. For seventeen years, he and the linguist shared a bed, shared a child, shared a life together. Suddenly, he pictured the red-headed woman smiling at him, waking up in his arms, until he shook his head to rid himself of the image.

"You're clearly not," she stated.

He brought his eyes back to hers. "Not what?"

"Together," she answered, "with Mom…Emma."

"No," he scoffed.

A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes and she picked up her chicken leg once more. "Why not?"

"Why aren't me and Rogers together?" he clarified.

She nodded, eyebrows raised, waiting for a good explanation.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

She shrugged a shoulder as she went to work on the chicken leg. "Fine. It's not like I know everything there is to know about y'all's relationship."

"I'm good," Ronon said tersely, turning down her thinly-veiled offer. "Besides, I thought McKay said you weren't allowed to talk about the future anymore."

"Your loss." She raised her shoulders again and took a big swig of her water.

"You're not here to play matchmaker, kid," he chastised. "You're here as a guest until we can figure out a way to get you back home."

She put her glass down and stared at it for a spell. "And if you don't figure out a way?"

Her voice was quiet, withdrawn, and he found himself suddenly moved by the look on her face. He knew how she felt. No friends, no family, no home.

"We will," he assured her.

She shoved the tray, still half-loaded with food, back at him. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she whispered before turning her gaze once more to the window, shutting him out.


	20. Of Waves and Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gives Eva a gift and learns more about what the future has in store for her...and for Ronon.

Her earliest memory was of the ocean. And like all infantile memories, it had no narrative, no structure; it was entirely composed of snippets, smells, sensations. The cool, humid breeze across her face, the briny scent of the air, the rhythmic rocking motion of the waves… For her entire life, as long as she could hear the ocean, she knew she was home. She had missed it while she was away.

A familiar voice spoke quietly from behind her, stirring her from her thoughts. "I thought this was my thinking spot."

Eva turned to see her mother standing at the entrance of the balcony, flanked by her guards. "I guess you _were_ the one who told me about it," she admitted.

With a sly smile on her lips, Emma leisurely approached. "I suspected as much. After the mess and the sparring room, this balcony came up third on my list of places to check for you."

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. "You radioed one of my guards and asked him where I was, didn't you?"

Her smile widened. "Maybe," she said with a shrug.

There was a canvas bag, garishly decorated with the Lone Star flag, slung over her mother's shoulder. "Why were you looking for me?" she asked as she eyed the bag with suspicion.

"Well," she started with a sigh, slipping the tote off her arm and holding it open so Eva could see inside, "I thought you might be lacking a few necessities."

Peering into the bag, she found a stack of clothes folded on the bottom, and on top lay an assortment of toiletries packed neatly into Ziploc bags: a full bottle of shampoo, conditioner, disposable razors, body wash, tampons, lip balm.

"Some of the clothes are mine that no longer fit, and the rest I raided the base lost and found for. I think you'll find that it's a lot of black, gray, and camo," she laughed softly.

Eva glanced back up at her.

"I washed them all; don't worry," she hastily added.

"I know how to do my own laundry."

"I'm sure you do," she smiled.

Chewing absentmindedly on the inside of her cheek, she stared at the offering. "Thanks," she eventually said, taking the bag and setting it to the side.

Her mother relaxed a bit, rested her arms over the railing, and gazed up into the night sky. "So," she began, "what did you come here to think about?"

Eva hung her head and sensed Emma watching her out of the corner of her eye. "Home."

"Hm," was all Emma said before they fell into what would, in different circumstances, be companionable silence. "You know," she began, "if you ever need anything or want to talk, you can come to me. I know I'm no substitute for your real mom, but I'd like to at least try to be helpful."

Eva surveyed her from top to bottom and after a long pause finally asked, "How old are you?"

Emma frowned at the non-sequitur. "Twenty-five."

"That explains it," Eva muttered.

She shook her head to indicate she wasn't following. "Explains what?"

"Look, I know you have a lot of, like, surplus mom energy or whatever from giving up Allie a few –"

"You know about Allie?" Emma breathed.

"The half-sister you led me to believe was my cousin my whole life?" she snapped. "Yeah. I know about her." The second she heard herself, she realized her tone was much more bitter than she had intended.

Speechless, Emma angled her face away from Eva's and, once more, fixated on the stars above.

Eva noticed Emma's chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. She sighed, realizing foremost, that the abandonment of her first child was clearly a difficult topic for her, and second, that this version of her mother didn't deserve her anger. Taking a deep breath, she reined in her resentment. "Allie's, what, like three now?"

"Nearly four," Emma nodded, still staring intently at the night sky.

"I understand that wound must still be fresh...I know how much you love her and I can only imagine how hard it was for you to leave her. And after giving up one daughter, now, a few years later, out of the blue appears another one. I bet this feels like a second chance for you. I appreciate what you're doing for me, but to be honest, you don't even know me. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Emma conceded before daring to look at her again. "But that doesn't mean you should have to."

With a click of her tongue and a roll of her eyes, she remained quiet for a moment. "I don't even know what to call you," she eventually confessed.

There was an instant in which her mother regarded her with confusion, before the understanding set in. "You can call me Emma…unless that's weird for you."

Eva bit her lip and nodded slowly.

They both leaned over the balcony, mother staring at the stars, daughter at the sea, the lapping of the gentle current filling the lull in their conversation.

Emma was the first to break the silence. "I've been wondering about something…aside from Allie, of course, do you have any other siblings?"

"No. I'm an only child."

"Oh," Emma whispered.

"I…I think you and Dad both wanted more kids but…" She turned to see Emma looking back at her, rapt with attention. Unsure if she should share the rest with her, Eva took a breath and looked down at the floor, "you couldn't."

Emma's eyes widened as she contended with her possible future. She swallowed hard and blinked a few times in rapid succession. "Your parents must miss you a lot, then."

Eva nodded, closed her eyes, and focused on the crash of the surf against the pier.

"You said you're sixteen, right?" Emma asked.

Eva opened her eyes. "Yeah."

"So…" she paused, "so where you're from, Ronon and I have been together for sixteen years?"

"Longer," Eva replied. "You were together for a while before I was born. I think it's been over twenty years."

Emma let out a quiet laugh of disbelief. "Of all people, Ronon Dex is the last person I could picture in a twenty-year relationship." She shook her head. "He's too much of a lone wolf for that."

"Well…" Eva shrugged, "they do say wolves mate for life."

Emma turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "That's a myth." She paused. "No…" she contemplated, sighing deeply, "he's one of those people that shuts everyone out. Can't say I blame him…after everything he went through."

Tearing her gaze from the ocean, she stared and into Emma's eyes. "Not with you," she declared with a determined shake of her head.

Even in the darkness, she could see her flush slightly. "Do you think you might be saying all this to ensure your own future existence?" she teased.

She laughed quietly. "Can you blame me?"

Emma smiled and stared back at her, ruminating on something. "Are we happy?" she finally asked, her expression suddenly solemn, voice devoid of any humor. "What I mean is…does he treat me well?"

What a strange question, she thought. What was she insinuating? Of course he did. "He loves you a lot."

Green eyes bore into her own, too timid – or perhaps too proud – to request more details, but clearly craving more.

"He," Eva smiled, "he pretends your singing isn't terrible, he always makes coffee for you in the morning, he dances with you when you've had a bad day…"

"He what?" she asked with astonishment, eyebrows raised.

"He's actually not bad. He definitely dances better than you sing."

"Ronon…dancing?" Emma looked at her as though she had sprouted another head.

"And it's not even like typical embarrassing parent dancing." She shuffled her feet and snapped her fingers to demonstrate. "You taught him all those sensual Latin dances. It's super gross." She curled her top lip. "We have a rule now that you two aren't allowed to dance in the living room or the kitchen anymore."

Incredulous, Emma shook her head. "I think your Ronon and our Ronon might be two different people."

"People change with time, I guess." She subconsciously brought her hand to the pendant around her neck.

"That's a pretty necklace," Emma complimented as she took note of the gesture.

Eva recognized it as a deliberate change in subject, but obliged her anyway. "My dad made it for me."

"He did? Can I see it?"

"Sure." Eva unclasped the necklace and dropped it into Emma's outstretched palm.

She studied it, running her fingers along the placard, shining in the moonlight. "It's beautiful," she remarked. "He did this by hand?"

Eva nodded. "I've had it as long as I can remember."

"These almost look like gate symbols," Emma commented.

"They are," she said. "That's the gate address for Sateda." She leaned closer to Emma and pointed to the first symbol. "That's _Arami_, then _Alura, Ecrumig_…"

"Hang on," Emma interrupted. "The symbols have names? I've always just learned them as numbers relative to their position on a DHD."

"Yeah. They're constellations…named by the Ancestors," she explained.

Emma's eyes widened. "I have to go. I have to find McKay. Thank you." She smiled and gestured to the canvas bag at their feet. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

She handed Eva's necklace back to her, squeezed her hand; then with a swish of red hair and a click of her earpiece, left Eva alone once more with her waves.


	21. Tempus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogers and McKay come up with a plan to track down more of Janus the Ancient's research on time manipulation.

"Have I arrived late?" Teyla asked as she entered the already populated briefing room, Torren asleep in her arms.

"You're not late till the boss man gets here," Sheppard replied before swiveling in his seat to look at her. "Decided to bring the baby, huh?"

"Kanaan was unexpectedly called back to Athos this afternoon. I had no choice but to bring Torren along. He is already down for the night but I could not leave him unattended. I assure you he will not make a sound and if he does –"

"Whoa," Sheppard interjected, palms outstretched in an offering of peace. "I'm not criticizing. I get it. If you can't find a babysitter, then you gotta bring the baby. I don't have a problem with that," he reassured her. "Though I am starting to feel a little left out. You've got your kid, Ronon and Rogers have theirs…"

Ronon lifted the side of his mouth in mischief. "What are you talking about?" He gestured with his chin toward McKay and Rogers across the table, who were comparing notes before presenting their report on Janus's lab to the rest of the team. "You've got McKay."

Sheppard glared at him. "Thanks," he said dryly, "I feel a lot better."

Teyla licked her lips, tried to hide her smile, and looked down at her son in her grasp.

Less than a minute passed before Eva arrived and her guards stationed themselves at the edge of the door.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed, jumping backwards as soon as she laid eyes on Teyla.

"There a problem?" Sheppard asked.

She pointed at the sleeping infant. "Is…is that…is that Torren?" She took a tentative step toward mother and child.

Teyla nodded. "Yes. Of course."

Eva shook her hands out and released a shiver. "Oh, I don't like that. That is super weird."

Teyla's eyes narrowed like a hawk's. "Excuse me?" 

McKay and Rogers, disrupted by the commotion, looked up from their work to watch the drama unfold.

"Oh, no," Eva quickly backpedaled once she realized she had offended Teyla. "I don't mean it like that. It's not that I don't like Torren – I really like Torren, well, I like him, I mean, I think he's fine –"

Teyla raised her eyebrows in amusement while Sheppard and Ronon shared a loaded look with one another. Flustered was an emotion they had yet to witness the usually fearless and recalcitrant Eva display.

She took a steadying breath. "What I mean is, the Torren I know is almost twenty-two," she explained, "and…and…"

"Dreamy?" Sheppard supplied with a grin.

"Shut up," she snapped, rounding on him.

Teyla extended her arms toward the girl. "Would you care to hold him?" she offered.

"No," she immediately replied, stepping backward. "Definitely not." She made her way as far from Teyla and Torren as possible, took a seat, and let out another shudder. "So creepy," she quietly whispered.

Ronon caught Rogers's eye from across the table; she gave him a small, bemused smirk before returning to her private conversation with McKay. 

Woolsey waltzed into the conference room and took his seat. "Good evening, everyone. Well, Doctors, what have you found?" he asked as the doors closed behind him.

McKay and Rogers exchanged a brief glance, both a bit caught off guard by Woolsey's haste.

"Well, it's actually what we haven't found," McKay replied. "As you know, Dr. Rogers and I have spent the past week scouring Janus' lab for information that could help us send Eva back to her own time. There's a ton of fascinating inventions and research down there: personal cloaking technology, long-range communication devices, research into the Iratus bug, and a bunch of other stuff we haven't quite figured out. Cataloguing the whole place could take a year, maybe more."

"Your point, Doctor?" Woolsey prompted.

"I'm getting there," he said with an impatient hand gesture. "Now, Janus obviously had his irons in several fires, but we know from what Dr. Weir told us and from the Time Jumper we discovered back on Earth that his main passion was the study of time and time manipulation. Granted, we haven't gone through everything, but given his level of interest in time and the likelihood that the bulk of his research would have been dedicated to the study of it, we thought it was suspicious that we haven't yet found a single bit of research pertaining to time travel."

"According to some Ancient disciplinary files I translated, Janus was punished by the Lantean Council for experimenting with time travel, which we assumed was what prompted him to move all of his research to the secret lab," Dr. Rogers explained. "Nevertheless, the lab is within the city, meaning there was still a slight possibility he would be discovered. We came across it by accident after all, so it stands to reason the Ancients could have, too."

"All this leads us to believe he performed some of his more illicit research in an off-world lab in order to decrease his chances of being discovered," McKay finished.

"And how do you suggest we locate this off-world lab?" Woolsey asked, doubtful.

Rogers took a breath and held it in, then glanced over to McKay. "We have a theory."

"You. You have a theory," McKay muttered.

"Janus liked riddles and clever methods of concealment, right? So, I gave it some thought. Gate addresses are six symbols plus the point of origin. Well, it just so happens the Ancient word for time is six letters. _Tempus_."

"You believe the letters correspond to the six symbols in the gate address?" Teyla asked.

Emma nodded. "See, I didn't realize this until I was talking to Eva the other night, but the gate symbols all have names. If we take the first letter of each constellation and assign it to the letters in _tempus_, then –"

"Then we have a gate address," Sheppard interjected.

"No, then we have eight gate addresses," McKay corrected.

"Eight? How do you figure?" Woolsey asked.

"Well, if we first account for the change from our Latin alphabet to the Ancient character system, there's one constellation that matches up with the T, M, P, and U characters. But there are two possibilities for the E – _Elenami_ and _Ecrumig_, and then five possibilities for the S – we can throw out _Subido_, which is our point of origin, but we're still left with _Sibbron_, _Sandovi_, _Setas_, and um…" she looked down and to the right as she tried to recall the last one, "uh…"

"_Salma_," Ronon finished for her.

She glanced back up and, for the second time that evening, smiled at him. "Yes. _Salma_," she nodded. "Thank you. That gives us a total of eight possible addresses."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Doctor, but isn't Ancient an inflected language, like Latin? How do we know we should be using this spelling and not some form in another case?"

"You know your Latin, Mr. Woolsey," she said with a complimentary nod in his direction. "But I already thought of that. _Tempus_ is both the nominative and the accusative singular form of the word. Just like in Latin it is considered neuter in gender and belongs to the third declension so when declined into any other case or number, it becomes longer than six characters and therefore cannot be a gate address."

Ronon had no idea what she was talking about, but was without a doubt impressed. Occasionally, he had wondered how someone as young as her had already become the base's senior linguist; now, he was beginning to understand.

"I would like to reiterate that this is all a huge stretch," McKay argued.

"But it's a start," Woolsey countered. "Colonel Sheppard, starting tomorrow we'll send your team and any other available teams to any viable addresses to see what we can find."

"Copy that, sir," Sheppard responded.

"Dr. Rogers, I'm temporarily assigning you to Sheppard's team in case anything needs to be translated."

She nodded once in acquiescence.

Woolsey then addressed Eva. "Miss Dex."

She looked up at him, perplexed.

"You've been here nearly two weeks now. I think we can safely say you're not in league with the Wraith nor any longer a security threat. What are your thoughts on finally being left to your own devices?"

"You mean, get rid of the guards?" she asked.

Woolsey nodded.

"Please," she begged, eyes wide. "Please, please, please."

"Consider them gone. But I expect you to be on your best behavior in return. Any missteps, insubordination…" he narrowed his eyes from behind the lenses of his glasses, "or mysteriously broken windows, and you're right back under guard," he warned.

"I promise," she said eagerly. "Cross my heart."

"Very well. We'll start dialing these addresses tonight and send MALPs to any we can get a lock on. SGA-1, be ready to embark at oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow." He nodded to the group. "Dismissed."

Eva leapt out of her seat and rushed toward the door. She paused in front of her guards and bowed her head to each of them. "Timon…Pumbaa, it's been real." She thumped one of them across the arm and disappeared into the city.

Teyla went off in the direction of her quarters, no doubt to put her son to bed for good this time, while the rest of the team slowly shuffled out toward the mess hall for a late dinner. Ronon glanced back into the room and noticed Rogers had hung back to speak individually with Woolsey.

"I'd like to make a request, sir," he heard her say.

Curious about what that request might entail, he angled his ear to listen in on their conversation.

"Hanson," Sheppard announced with surprise.

Drawn from his eavesdropping by Sheppard's comment, he turned his attention to the captain standing right outside the conference room. Ronon recognized most people on base, but there was something about this particular young marine that, for whatever reason, stuck out in his memory.

"Sir," Hanson replied with a curt nod.

"Bit of an odd place to be hanging out this time of night," Sheppard observed.

"Sorry, sir," he smiled. "I was just uh…" he scratched at his chin, "just waiting for Emma."

"For Rogers?" Sheppard confirmed.

"Yes sir," he nodded. "We were gonna grab a bite to eat."

"With Dr. Rogers?" Sheppard repeated.

"Yes sir." The corporal regarded Sheppard as though he were concerned for his mental state. "She is in there, isn't she?"

"Huh," Sheppard mused before continuing on his way, his lack of response leaving the younger man a bit bewildered.

Though his curiosity about the linguist's private conversation with Woolsey had initially been piqued, Ronon no longer cared to stay and listen to the rest. He imagined she, like most base scientists, probably had some issue being assigned to an active team. Fine by him; one less liability to worry about. He followed Sheppard on his way to the commissary, suddenly and inexplicably feeling the need to hit something.


	22. The Captain and the Linguist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma has an unpleasant encounter with someone from her past, leaving Ronon both confused and concerned. Eva joins the team's expedition in search of Janus' secret lab, much to Ronon's chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone. I hope you've been enjoying this fic so far. Thank you to everyone who has been reading, subscribing and commenting. I appreciate you all. :)
> 
> CW in this chapter for physical assault of a woman by a man. Not very violent, but pretty intimidating and tense.

She checked the safety of her Beretta before sliding it into her thigh holster, shoved her tablet into her pack and slung it over her shoulder. Consulting her watch as she left the armory, she picked up the pace. Five minutes. Barely enough time. She ran through a mental checklist of everything she would need for the several-day-long voyage as she hurried toward the gate room, hoping she wasn't forgetting anything.

Tablet? Check.

Voice recorder? Check.

Cameras? Check.

Batteries? Check.

Even more batteries? Check.

Notebook and pencils? Check and check.

Inhaler and nebulizer? Check.

Lost in her thoughts, she at first didn't notice the heavy footfall of boots, nor did she realize anyone was behind her until a man's voice, arrogant but disguised in flattery, called out to her.

"Hey there, beautiful!"

Trusting she could give him the slip around the next corner, she increased her already hasty speed, but he continued to follow her down the corridor.

"Ah, don't be so modest, Emma," he called. "You know I'm talking to you."

With an abrupt stop, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath in mental preparation, and spun to face her pursuer. "Captain Hanson," she greeted as politely as possible.

"Mornin', beautiful,'" he smiled, hands planted on his hips.

She forced a smile back. "I've asked you several times not to call me that."

"I'm just callin' it like it is," he replied with a smirk.

Emma glanced at the floor for a second, then lifted her gaze. Maybe if she dared to look him right in the eyes, he would take her seriously. "It undermines my professionalism..." she countered, "and yours."

"Then what do you suggest I use instead?" He gave her a cocky tilt of the head, awaiting an answer. "Ace? Einstein? Smarty pants?"

"How about 'Doctor?'" she retorted, the knee-jerk ferocity of her own voice startling her.

The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement… and she didn't like it one bit.

"Look, I'm in a bit of a hurry." She glanced over her shoulder and down the hall. "Did you need something?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to avoid me, Emma."

She inhaled deeply, tried once more to draw from the Southern hospitality her mother had drilled into her since she could talk, and offered him a sugar-coated white lie. "Of course not. It's just that I'm heading out with Sheppard's team in about three minutes, and I can't be late. I really have to go." Turning to take her leave, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back to face him. She glanced down, confused and alarmed.

"You know, you did this last night, too," he said. "You said you'd have dinner with me, but then when I came to pick you up, you flaked."

She attempted to wrench her arm away, but his grip was too tight. "Captain, I said I'd maybe have dinner with you sometime." She couldn't believe he needed her to explain that _maybe sometime_ translated to _never ever, not interested, but I'm trying to be nice and not hurt your feelings too badly_. "I happened to be busy last night." She glared up at him. "Now... let me go," she demanded, struggling to conceal the tremor in her voice.

"Well, when works for you?" he persisted.

Her wrist was still trapped, the skin twisting and tugging beneath his fingers.

He flashed what would otherwise be a charming smile. "Gimme a time and a day and I'll be there with bells on."

"Take a hint, Captain. I have to go," she said as nicely as she could.

"But I'm not done talking to you." His voice was disturbingly calm.

"I told you, I'm in a hurry," she insisted. She then turned her back to him, but his hold on her was still too strong.

He moved so fast, she didn't realize what was happening until her backpack was flush against the wall. Both of his hands now clutched to her forearms, holding her still. Her heart pounded in her throat, her vision blurred, and her lungs constricted.

"Let me go," she croaked.

"Emma, I am just trying to have a conversation with you, but you won't give me the fucking time of day. That's a little rude, don't you think?"

Emma scowled at him, trying to regulate her breathing.

"I thought we had something…back in Colorado."

"We worked together for less than a year and went on _one_ date," she argued. "I'd hardly call that something." Her throat was closing, but she willed her voice to remain steady.

"I just want to get to know you," he said in a would-be innocent tone, shaking his head. "You have to admit – I've waited long enough for that second date."

"This is how you ask for a second date?" she wheezed with incredulity. "Boy, you sure got a skewed perception on how to court a lady."

His hold on her arms grew stronger and she stifled a whimper as his fingers dug into her flesh.

"Look," she said with more conviction, staring into his eyes, "I've been in this exact same situation with men just like you –"

"Really?" he sneered. "I wouldn't think you were the type of girl to like it up against a wall. But then again, I guess that's something you find out on a third or fourth date."

"You don't scare me," she declared as strongly and clearly as an impending asthma attack would allow. "Let me go or I will report you. I'll file a report against you for harassing a female scientist."

The warmth of his breath on her neck as he stepped closer made her cringe and she angled her face as far away from his as she could.

"You'll be out of here so fast," she warned him.

"With what proof?" 

Her eyes flickered over to one of the ceiling-mounted security cameras.

He followed her gaze with his own. "You looking at that camera?" he pointed with his chin. "What about that one over there?" He looked toward another one.

She tried to inhale, but every gasp of air caught in her throat.

"You know, I may not get to go off world much or be the one who saves the day, but being a key member of base security does have its perks," he started. "Like for instance, I happen to know there's a tiny blind spot in this corridor that neither of those cameras reach."

She hated herself for gulping, but the accumulation of saliva at the back of her mouth became unbearable, making her already difficult breathing even more impossible.

"And guess where we're standing…"

He was bluffing. He had to be. But she remained silent, unmoving. She knew she should kick him, knee him in the groin, grab her handgun…something; but she simply could not will her limbs to move or make her fingers reach for her weapon. She couldn't even speak. Just as she began to feel lightheaded, footsteps and distant voices from down the hall met her ears and a tiny glimmer of hope swelled in her chest.

"You know what else I have access to as part of security?" he carried on, the threat of impending discovery seemingly having no effect on him. "Information about living quarters, door access codes." He leaned even closer and whispered in her ear. "Room 414, South Pier…right?"

A chill ran up her spine as his cold blue eyes met hers.

The voices grew louder and he started to pull away. "You know, just in case I wanna drop by and discuss that second date." He let her go. "Have fun on your trip…beautiful," he said brightly as he left her there, pressed against the wall.

She released a shallow, rattling breath and fumbled through her TAC vest pockets, trying to remember which one held her rescue inhaler. Medicine delivered, she glanced down at her watch again. Two minutes past eight. The entire interaction with the corporal had lasted less than three minutes, but it had felt like an hour. Stifling a cough – if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop – she stumbled down the corridor toward the gate room.

* * *

One by one, the chevrons engaged, glittering along the rim of the Stargate. Ronon turned around and, to his surprise, laid eyes on Eva who was zipping up a small black rucksack.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "Woolsey told me to be here," she answered as she flung the bag onto her back.

He looked her up and down. "Unarmed?"

She unsheathed a long dagger and showed it to him. "He said I could bring a knife."

Sheppard took a step forward to stand level with them. "It was a special request from Dr. Rogers," he explained, clipping his P-90 to his vest. "Woolsey didn't have a problem with it and neither did I, so here she is."

Ronon let out a quiet snort. The only reason Sheppard didn't have a problem with it was because it was Rogers who made the request.

"You've seen me fight," Eva said, defending herself. "You know I won't be a burden."

Ronon brought his hand to his forehead, shook his head, and turned to face the gate again. There was no good reason to bring a teenager on a mission, regardless of how low-risk it might be.

The gate activated and cast a flickering blue glow over the embarkation room.

"Does anyone know where Dr. Rogers is?" Teyla asked the group.

A voice came from the far end of the room. "I'm here," she announced, hurrying through the corridor that led from the armory. "Sorry I'm late."

Ronon surveyed her and furrowed his brow. She looked awful. Her face was pale – almost blue, her normally smooth, straight hair was disheveled, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead and upper lip. She advanced into the room and stood next to him.

"First time off world?" he asked with an entertained smirk.

She hardly even looked back at him. "What?" she asked with a very feminine breathiness that made his pulse quicken.

"You just seem a little nervous," he observed.

"Oh," she replied absentmindedly. "No, it's not my first time."

He expected more of an explanation from her to excuse her tardiness and ruffled appearance, but she left it at that.

"You packin' heat over there, Rogers?" Sheppard called, tapping at his own weapon tethered to his chest.

"Am I from Texas or not?" Her tone seemed jocular, but her voice sounded strangely hoarse. "I would have preferred a .22-gauge shotgun, but I didn't see any of those in the armory." She offered Sheppard a strained smile.

"Just checking. Sometimes you sciencey people get so occupied with your scanners, and your computers, and all your other fancy technology, you forget to bring along a weapon, too." He shot a knowing glare over to McKay.

"That was one time!" he whined.

Ronon glanced down at Rogers who was staring blankly at a spot just behind the gate, oblivious to the bickering between Sheppard and McKay going on right next to her. Despite her earlier joke, her lack of attention and the raspiness of her voice made him worry. Was she going to be like this the entire time? Hopefully not. They had a long journey ahead of them and a distracted member of their expedition could prove a significant hindrance.

Two by two, they approached the gate – Sheppard and Teyla taking point, Eva and McKay behind them, until Ronon and Rogers were the only two still left in the gate room. Rogers paused, stared up at the event horizon, and took in a breath of air that whistled as it entered her lungs. He regarded her with concern and a bit of surprise before she stepped through the puddle.

And he thought Eva was going to be the one he'd have to look after on this mission…


	23. The Wild Herd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team encounters an unlikely obstacle on their new mission.

Ronon had learned to appreciate the sea breeze and constant sunny days on Atlantis, but every once in a while, he found himself longing for the change of the seasons. And so, he was glad that the atmosphere, or the magnetization of the poles, or whatever it was McKay had said about this particular world made it too difficult fly a jumper. It was a beautiful autumn day, the kind that reminded him of the annual hunting trips he used to take with his grandfather, or the pies his grandmother would make with the fruits of the fall harvest, or of the cold nights spent huddled around a fire surrounded by friends, Melena wrapped up in a knit blanket in his arms. Though it would take them significantly longer to explore the planet on foot, he'd much rather be outside, enjoying the crisp air and the rustle of dry leaves than the beeping insides of a ship.

He fixed his gaze forward and took in their new surroundings. Sheppard and Teyla, leading the pack, had just disappeared from sight over the crest of the hill they were climbing. McKay and Eva were safest in the middle, the latter clearly enjoying herself as she tormented the physicist about something – he kept covering his ears and moving away from her, only for her to break into a run, recover the distance between them, and repeat the whole process over again. At the snap of a TAC vest pocket next to him, Ronon looked down to see Rogers extract a small device, bring it to her lips, press down on the top of it, and breathe deeply.

"You need a break?" Ronon asked her, not entirely successful in keeping the condescension from his voice.

She dropped the device back into her pocket. "A break from what?" She had smoothed her hair out since going through the gate and the color had returned to her cheeks, but she still sounded hoarse.

"From all the walking," he gestured up the hill, "the hike…"

"No," she snapped with a shake of her head. "Do I look like I need a break?" Her green eyes locked onto his, awaiting a response to her question, and in that instant, he was stricken by how perfectly her features seemed to blend in with the golden and vermillion tree cover around them.

He shrugged.

"Because I'm not a man?" she persisted, suddenly offended.

He was taken aback by how quickly she had jumped at his throat. "Because you're a scientist," he retorted.

She scoffed in response.

"And because of that thing you just used."

"I have a medical condition," she said defensively.

"Seems like a lot of you scientists have 'medical conditions,'" he said.

"Whatever," she muttered with an eyeroll that he more felt than witnessed.

They walked in silence after that until McKay's annoyed voice called from up ahead. "The hell is this?!"

Ronon and Rogers glanced at one another, then jogged the remainder of the way to the top of the hill until they met up with the rest of the team. Below was the source of McKay's consternation: a group of cattle were packed tightly together in one large mass, completely blocking their path.

Colonel Sheppard made moves to approach the herd, but Rogers called to him.

"I wouldn't do that, Colonel!" she warned.

"They're just cows!" he called back.

"Alien cows," she said as she closed the gap between them. "Dairy cows back on Earth have been bred for centuries to be calm and gentle. You don't know if these creatures will be the same."

Sheppard sighed, put his hands on his hips, and looked at her as if to say, "You got a better idea?"

"Besides," she pointed toward the herd, "you see those with the horns? Those are bulls. Bulls and cows don't normally herd together unless the females are in estrus."

"Meaning?" McKay said as he crossed his arms in impatience.

"It's breeding season," she explained.

"And how precisely do you know all this?" he asked with derision.

"I was raised on a horse ranch and our neighbors down the road had cattle. We used to help them drive the cows and they'd pay us back in milk and beef for the favor."

"All right," Sheppard said. "I get it. Don't get between a gentleman and his lady. So then what do we do?"

Ronon unholstered his blaster and smirked. "We could shoot 'em."

"We are _not_ shooting the cows!" Rogers shouted in disbelief.

"What if we laid down some warning fire?" Sheppard asked.

"No," she answered. "That'll just spook them. They'll either herd even tighter together…"

"Safety in numbers," Eva muttered.

"…or they'll charge." Rogers surveyed the expanse of dark hides and swishing tails. "If this many of them charge, it'll sound like a freight train barreling through the valley."

"Perhaps we should just go around them?" Teyla suggested.

Sheppard climbed back to the top of the hill and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. He shook his head as he descended. "There's too many of 'em. Tree cover's pretty thick, but they go as far as I can see on either side. Going around will take way too long."

The cows bellowed almost in response and they started to close the gaps between them.

"Oh, for God's sake!" McKay whined. "It's like they know we're talking about them!"

"Well with you talking that loudly, I bet it's hard for them to ignore," Sheppard said.

Ronon heard a click to his left and glanced down at Rogers, who had pulled out her sidearm and taken off the safety.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "So we _are_ gonna shoot the cows?"

"What?" she asked, slightly distracted as she studied the trees behind them. "No. For the last time, we are not shooting the cows," she whispered. "Everybody quiet."

"What is it?" Teyla asked.

"There's something in the trees," Rogers answered.

"How can you tell?" McKay asked in his normal volume, clearly still doubting her.

"The herd senses a threat," she explained, pointing to the cows. "Do you see how the bulls have migrated to the outside of the herd, while the calves have been shifted to the center? Their eyes are wide, their ears are up, and they've moved in closer together."

"All right, everyone. Weapons out," Sheppard ordered.

"You should probably take them off the automatic setting," Rogers suggested, "unless you want a stampede."

They waited in tense silence, listening carefully to the forest, the steadiness of the soft autumnal wind punctuated only by the distress calls of the cattle. A rustle of leaves to the east caught Ronon's attention. He noticed that Rogers, too, had heard it.

He had glanced down at her for the briefest of moments, but in that time had missed his shot. A large cat-like animal had emerged from the trees and made its run for the herd. Before it could get far, there was a loud gunshot from his left and the animal collapsed to the forest floor.

The cows' cries got louder. The bulls stamped their hooves. Not a member of the team moved a muscle.

Eventually, the herd relaxed, and so did they. Rogers looked up at Ronon and they both made their way to the predator, guns still cautiously pointed toward it. Blood spilled from a gunshot wound just above its right shoulder. Ronon prodded it with the tip of his boot but it neither twitched nor made a sound. It was dead.

"Nice shot," Eva complimented her as she came up behind them.

Ronon had to agree. It was well placed – the bullet had immediately destroyed both the heart and the lungs – enough to kill the animal but cause it no unnecessary suffering. He had no idea she was that talented a marksman.

"Right in the boiler factory," Eva continued, "…as Grandpa would say."

"Yep," Rogers sighed. "Bit of a bigger target than the coyotes I learned on."

"Got more meat on it, too," Eva commented. She looked up at Ronon. "Think you could carry this thing around till dinner time?"

Sheppard interrupted before he could answer. "Nice work!" he said with surprise.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," McKay shouted. "Not so fast! What if these things travel in packs?"

Ronon bent down to inspect the dead cat. "We're good," he affirmed, standing back up and brushing his hands against his pants. "Looks like a leukogat."

"I agree," Teyla concurred. "There is no need to worry, Rodney. They are solitary hunters."

"Plus, look at the herd," Rogers added.

They all turned to see the cows had indeed begun to loosen up and disperse, but not so much that all six of them could successfully pass; they still needed to clear a wider path. Rogers scanned the forest floor and found a large stick, then headed toward the herd, stick in hand.

"I thought you said approaching them was a bad idea," Shepard reminded her.

"It is," she conceded. "Especially if you don't have herding experience. But what else are we gonna do?" she shrugged. Cautiously, she went to the edge of the herd and started poking and prodding at the cattle. "Come on cows," she coaxed sweetly. "Let's go. Outta the way. Just for a second."

The cows began to move apart at her nudging until finally a small, three-foot wide section had been cleared.

Rogers motioned to the group that they should begin to cross. "Try not to get directly behind any of them," she said in a soothing, but warning tone. "If you have to, make sure you touch the cow first while it can still see you, then run your hand along its rump until you've passed. Make your way to that fence over there and jump it. They won't charge the fence."

One by one, with Rogers accompanying each of them the whole way, the members of the team trod carefully through cows and trees to the fence along the small berth she had created. Eva being the youngest was the first escorted to safety, then McKay, and then Teyla.

"All right, Chewie," Sheppard said as Rogers returned from her third trip. "You're up."

"You're the leader," he argued. "You should go join your team."

Rogers volleyed her gaze back and forth between the two men.

"Captain always goes down with the ship. I should be last."

"Good thing you're _Colonel_ Sheppard and not _Captain_ Sheppard, then," he smirked.

"Oh my God," Rogers complained. "Just nose goes it and get it over with. We don't have all day."

"Rock, paper, scissors, then," Sheppard suggested.

"What?" Ronon spat.

"Rock," Sheppard held out a fist, "paper," he stretched his hand out flat, "or scissors," he extended his index and middle fingers. "Ready?"

"What?" Ronon repeated. But before he had a chance to ask for clarification of the directions, Sheppard was already balling his hand into a fist and starting the game.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot," Sheppard chanted. He held out two fingers.

Unsure of exactly how the game went, Ronon had left his hand curled into a fist.

"Dammit," Sheppard muttered. "Shoulda seen that coming."

So he had won?

"All right. See you on the other side." And with that, Rogers next shepherded Sheppard to safety.

Finally, it was Ronon's turn to pass. Now comfortable with their presence and accustomed to the ceremony, the cows hardly needed any coercing from Rogers's stick to move out of their way.

"Nice cows," she said, stroking one down the length of its spine as they walked alongside it. "Just keep munching on that tasty moss…"

They were within sight of the fence and the rest of their team when, from behind a thick and ancient tree trunk, a large, dark bull emerged and blocked their way. It lowered its head and horns directly at them.

"Whoa," she said in a low voice, backing up and colliding softly with Ronon's chest. "Nice boy," she cooed. "Good boy. I'm not here to hurt you."

Ronon lifted his blaster over the woman's shoulder and aimed it at the bull.

"That better be set to stun," she warned him in the same measured tone she was using with the bull. "We just need to pass," she told the beast, advancing slowly upon him.

The bull pawed at the ground and rubbed its face in the dirt.

"Shit," She held her stick up in the air like a bludgeon and drew herself up look as large as possible. "Listen up, motherfucker!" she yelled at it, true anger seeping through her voice. "You will let me go!"

Her voice was shaking and Ronon got the distinct but odd impression that her words weren't exclusively meant for the bull in front of them.

They continued to slowly edge past the massive animal while it followed their every movement with its eyes, black like tar and wide enough so as to see the whites, bloodshot with rage.

"You come at me and I will knock you so hard you'll see tomorrow today!"

After what she'd said about the sound of automatic gunfire potentially causing a stampede, he wouldn't think yelling at the top of her lungs would be a great tactic, but the bull retreated a bit every time she hollered at it. Ronon wouldn't go near her if she were yelling at him like that, that was for damn sure.

"Don't make me tan that hide of yours!" she bellowed.

The bull backed away, but she kept her stick held high in the air, walking slowly toward the fence.

"Go now, Ronon," she whispered. "Slowly."

He hesitated. Something about leaving her and the beast alone, with only a branch to defend herself didn't sit right with him.

"Now," she insisted, "while I've still got him under control."

Stomach in knots, he started to make his way to the edge of the clearing.

Sensing that Ronon was close to safety, Rogers also began to sidle toward the fence, but with her eyes and attention so focused on the bull, she neglected to sense a cow immediately to her left. She accidentally took it by surprise from behind and it defensively launched its back hoof at her, kicking her square in the leg. She crumpled to the ground from the blow and the bull, taking advantage of her weakness, charged at her.

Ronon reacted immediately. He fired his gun directly at the bull and it fell to the Earth with a ground-shaking thud, a mere foot away from Rogers. He ran over to her, lifted her to her feet, hoisted her over his shoulder, and made a break for the fence. He passed Rogers over the barrier to Teyla, then hurdled over it himself.

From behind the rickety and rotting barrier, they waited with baited breath as the herd snorted and grunted with panic. But Rogers was right; the cows did not dare to charge the fence.

Teyla propped Rogers up against the railings. "Are you all right?" she asked, examining her injury.

Rogers winced but nodded. "Not the first time I've been kicked," she said as she gently palpated her upper leg. "It missed my kneecap, which is good. The thigh and the ass are probably the two best places to get kicked," she laughed, "so I'll count myself lucky."

"I take it Cow is not one of the sixteen languages you speak?" Sheppard asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought I did." She grimaced, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Guess I need to brush up on the Pegasus dialect."

Ronon realized he had been holding his breath and, upon hearing the rest of the team laugh, finally let it out.

She looked over to him. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. She was unlike any other scientist he knew.


	24. Sleeping Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and Eva participate in some commanding-officer-mandated-father-daughter bonding time, and things don't go as hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating for so long. I hit a pretty big block much later on in this story, and didn't know how to proceed. Fanfic (writing it, reading it, keeping up with everything) was also starting to feel more like a job or an obligation rather than a hobby and I got pretty overwhelmed so I just went totally radio silent on everyone. 
> 
> To anyone who has messaged me either here or on FF.net, I promise I'll get back to you soon -- I just needed some time away from it all.

"We couldn't stay at a tavern?" 

"You see any taverns around here, Rodney?" Sheppard retorted. "According to the aerial MALP, we won't reach the main settlement for another five hours or so. We'll have to make camp here tonight." He lowered his voice. "And I think someone might need to rest for the day."

"Do not patronize me, Sheppard," McKay snippily said. "I am perfectly capable of walking through the rest of the n—"

"He's talking about me," Emma called to McKay as, with a grimace, she gingerly leaned her weight against a boulder.

"Oh," McKay said, looking rather sheepish. "Really?"

"Sure," Sheppard nodded with a smug grin, thumping him on the back.

Eva watched as Teyla opened up the first aid kit and rifled through it until she found an instant ice pack. She crushed it in her hand and gave it to Emma who smiled, thanked her, and pressed it to her thigh.

"Ronon and Eva, we gotta get a fire going before it gets too dark," Sheppard continued. "Feels like it might be a cold night. I'll go get water from the stream; you two find us some kindling."

Ronon gave a grunt of assent and before Eva had time to protest, she was already following him into the thick of the woods. She glanced over her shoulder one more time, caught a glimpse of Emma nursing her leg, and tried not to think about how lucky she was that bull hadn't gored her to death. It always seemed like the presumably safe missions were the ones that turned out to be the most perilous. At least, that's the way it was the first time Eva realized just how dangerous her parents' jobs were. She was only five or six years old when it happened...

_Her parents had left together early that morning, something they rarely did. Usually, they made sure one of them could stay home and be with her, but this time was different. They both kissed her goodbye, told her they would be back later that night, and placed her in the care of the Peters-Lorne family._

_Dr. Peters put Eva and her daughter Olivia to work pulling weeds and tending to the plants in the botany lab for the day. After several slow hours in the greenhouse, with dirt caked under their fingernails and smelling a bit like fertilizer, they headed back to the Lornes' quarters and the botanist told them to wash up for dinner. Ravenous from a day of hard labor, they scarfed down their hot dogs and macaroni and cheese while they sat transfixed in front of the television watching a children's movie from Earth. _

_A_ _fter a small bowl of ice cream each, Eva and Olivia snuggled under the same blanket on the couch, both nodding off as the animations flashed across the screen. Just as Eva nestled into the pillow and succumbed to her drowsiness, she was startled awake by Major Lorne hurried arrival through the front door._

_"Lacey, where's –" He first laid eyes on his wife and Charlotte, the baby, but immediately silenced himself as his gaze traveled to the two sleeping girls on the sofa._

_Eva shut her eyes tight, pretending to be fast asleep, as he looked over to her. Peeking through squinted eyelids, she saw him lean over to his wife and whisper something in her ear. Dr. Peters's eyes widened with concern as she stared back at him. Then, once again, both sets of their eyes zeroed in on Eva._

_"He wants to take her now?" she whispered back._

_Lorne shrugged. "Apparently so."_

_"But that will traumatize the poor girl," she hissed._

_"He said he wants to tell her before she hears any rumors."_

_Dr. Peters shook her head. "Okay," she sighed. "You finish feeding the baby and I'll get the girls ready for bed. You can take her after that."_

_He nodded, took the spoon and jar of baby food from his wife and sat across from his youngest daughter._

_Dr. Peters walked quietly over to the couch, turned off the television and crouched down to Eva and Olivia's level. "Girls," she whispered._

_Eva squinted her eyes and released what she hoped was a convincing yawn._

_"Girls, it's time for bed." She reached a hand out to each of them and hauled them up. "Up you get." She led them down a short hallway and into Olivia's bedroom, which shared a wall with the bathroom. "I want teeth brushed and pajamas on in ten minutes."_

_Eva did as she was told and was about to climb into Olivia's bed when Major Lorne came to the door. "Eva, do you know where your shoes are?" he asked._

_She nodded._

_"Find them and put them on. Your dad wants to see you."_

_"They're back?" she asked brightly._

_He paused before finally nodding. "Yeah. They're back."_

_Eva practically sprinted to the living room, where she had left her shoes, and shoved them onto her feet. Properly shod, she stood like a soldier at attention in front of Lorne, waiting expectantly. He narrowed his eyes at her and then asked, "Do you have a coat? Or a sweater? You might get cold in just your PJs."_

_She shook her head. Her dad had been in charge of packing her day bag and he was a bare necessities kind of guy._

_Dr. Peters materialized from the hallway, Charlotte in her arms. "Have her wear one of Liv's," she suggested._

_Lorne reached into the coat closet and pulled out a small purple cotton zip-up sweater and handed it to Eva. She frowned at the color of it, but slipped it on anyway. The major knelt in front of her, zipped it to her chin, then stood once more. He extended his hand to her and she took it in her own before they stepped through the door and traveled down a series of hallways, all in complete silence. Major Lorne's pace was urgent, and though Eva was much shorter than him and therefore took smaller strides, she was so accustomed to keeping up with her father's long gait that she had no difficulty maintaining his speed._

_The two finally entered a transporter together and when Eva glanced upward, she saw Lorne had pushed the infirmary on the map. Goosebumps erupted along her arms and she drew the purple sweatshirt closer. Nothing good ever happened in the infirmary. When the transporter doors opened, the distant sounds of agitated male voices met her ears._

_"Ronon, there was nothing you could have done!"_

_"I should have stopped it! I should have gone to her! I should have been there to protect her."_

_The voices were familiar to her; the first belonged to Colonel Sheppard, and the second, obviously to her father._

_"You would have put your own life in danger if you –"_

_"That doesn't matter! I'm her husband, John. I vowed that I would protect her life with my own should I need to and I failed."_

_Eva and Lorne walked through the entrance of the infirmary, the voices getting louder as they made their way past empty beds, storage shelves, and dark computers, closer to the source._

_"She was a part of our team today. We all had a responsibility to watch out for each other and it wasn't physically possible. Maybe we're all at fault, but there were just too many of them, Ronon."_

_Eva and Lorne had stopped behind her father and Sheppard, who were standing around an occupied infirmary bed, blocking Eva's view of its inhabitant._

_"No! This –" her father pointed to the bed, "this is my fault!"_

_Lorne cleared his throat and the two men turned around. Eva watched as their eyes simultaneously focused on Lorne's before dropping straight down to her._

_"Eva," her father breathed. He pushed past Sheppard, bent down and scooped her into his arms. "Come here, pup." He hugged her so tightly, she felt like her bones might crush._

_"You're squishing me," she managed to say, her voice muffled in his shoulder._

_He released her a bit and looked down into her face, then closed his eyes, and brought his forehead, damp with sweat, to hers. She peeped her eyes open and, from her elevated vantage point, could see who was in the bed below them: her mother._

_"Daddy," she whispered, "what's going on?"_

_He lifted his head and opened his eyes, but initially looked over Eva's shoulder rather than at her. "Thanks," he said._

_"The rest of Eva's things are still with us," she heard Major Lorne say. "We'll be thinking about you guys tonight."_

_Her father nodded and the sound of military boots faded into the distance. He shifted Eva against his hip and held her weight with one arm while, with his other hand, he unfastened his weapons holster. Once unbuckled, he laid it at the foot of the bed, and repositioned her once again in his grasp._

_"Daddy," she persisted, "is mommy sleeping?"_

_"She's unconscious," he replied. "You know what that means?"_

_She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and shook her head. "No."_

_"She's knocked out. It's kind of like she's sleeping, except we can't wake her up. She'll only wake up when she's ready."_

_Eva thought back to the movie she and Olivia had just watched. She perked up and looked into her father's face. "You have to kiss her!"_

_"What?" he frowned._

_"Like in Sleeping Beauty. I saw it today. You love Mom, right?"_

_He nodded, still confused as to where all of this was going._

_"So if you kiss her, she'll wake up!"_

_He brought his hand to her cheek and shook his head morosely. "I already tried that, pup. Didn't work."_

_She slumped back down in his arms. "Why not?"_

_"She hit her head," he answered. "She hit her head really hard."_

_The pit of her stomach turned cold. "Is she gonna be okay?" she asked, afraid of the answer._

_He collapsed into a plastic and metal chair, Eva on his lap, and it was a long time before he answered. "I don't know," he eventually whispered. "We'll have to wait till tomorrow to find out."_

_Eva looked over to the gurney, to all the tubes and wires attached to her mother's unconscious form, to the dark bruises forming around her neck. "What's that beeping?" she finally asked._

_"That's her heart," her father explained. "If we can hear that beeping, then...we know she's all right."_

_Eva brought her ear to her father's chest and listened for his pulse, comparing the beat of his heart to that of the mechanical beeps filling the room._

_He peered curiously down at her._

_"Hers is slow," she whispered._

_He swallowed and nodded. "It's very slow," he agreed, his voice cracking._

_Surprised, Eva looked up at him to see tears collecting in the corners of his eyes as he stared at her mother. She had never seen him cry before._

_He blinked, and a tear fell down his cheek before disappearing into his beard. He sniffed and wiped the trail of water away with the side of his hand. He cleared his throat and his voice was steadier when he next spoke. "Your mother is very strong."_

_"Like you?" she asked._

_He smiled, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Stronger."_

_She rested her head against him and watched as her mother's chest rose and fell with every shallow breath she took. A thought occurred to her. "Do I have to sleep at Olivia's tonight?" she asked._

_"No, pup," he replied. "If your mom's sleeping here tonight, then so are we."_

_She nodded, grateful to be able to stay by her mother's side, and closed her eyes. With the sound of her father's steady heartbeat pounding in one ear, and the faint beeping of her mother's in the other, she eventually fell asleep. And though her father had said he would too, she wasn't convinced that he got a single minute of rest that entire night._

"Not that one – it's too thick."

His voice had wrenched her from the memory. Eva shook her head and blinked the tears from her eyes. "I think I know what kinds of branches to use in a fire," she spat before adding the log to the top of the stack of wood in her arms.

"It'll smoke too much," he warned. "Rogers -"

"Rogers what? Afraid the smoke will trigger her asthma?" she jeered.

"Asthma? Is that what it's called?"

"Look, don't pretend to care about her because it's obvious you don't."

"What are you talking ab -"

"You should have shot that bull sooner!" she shouted.

"What?" He looked completely taken aback.

"The bull that was charging at M—" she paused to correct herself, "at Emma. You should have shot it before it even had a chance to get near her." She bent down and picked up another branch.

"It looked like she had it under control," he shrugged.

"The damned thing nearly gored her to death. She obviously didn't have it under control."

"It was backing down," he argued. "Whatever she was doing was working."

Eva shook her head. "You waited too long," she whispered. "You put her at risk."

Ronon took a deep breath to calm his growing temper. "She told me not to."

"And what? You had no choice?" she taunted. "Do you just do whatever people tell you to do, even if it means leaving them in harm's way?"

Ronon scoffed, turned his back to her, and continued gathering firewood.

She refused to let him ignore her, so she said what she knew would hurt him most. "You should have protected her," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

He spun back around. "Why me?" he snapped. "Why not Sheppard? Why not Teyla or—or even McKay? I was the only one who went to help her so why are you blaming me?"

"You know why!" she shouted.

"Look, kid. Let's get this straight. There is nothing between me and Rogers. I hardly even know her. It's not my job to look out for her."

"You know it is! You should have protected her but you failed!"

He threw a log at a nearby tree and dropped the rest of his pile. "I did!" he snarled, advancing upon her. "I shot the beast! I ran to her, alone, and got her out of there! Safe."

The muscles in her neck tensed and she looked away from him, shaking her head. "She could have died," she whispered.

"I did what I could," he growled.

"Whatever," she muttered, adding an eyeroll for good measure. She strode several yards into the depths of the forest and out of sight.

"Don't go far!" Ronon ordered, but this time it was her turn to ignore him.

* * *

That little girl had a way of getting under his skin. He tried to focus on gathering the kindling, to not perseverate on what she had said, but he couldn't help but think…had he done everything in his power to save Rogers? Apart from a bruise, she had come out of the encounter mostly unscathed. Eva was overreacting, wasn't she?

But what if he had missed his shot? What if the herd had charged? What if they had lost her?

Ronon turned his gaze skyward and closed his eyes, trying to see things from Eva's perspective. Rogers, though technically not yet, was still her mother. The woman as Eva knew her had literally given her life; she had nurtured her since before her birth, had no doubt nursed her, kissed and bandaged her injuries, tucked her in at night… And she had nearly witnessed her death today. He sighed and reminded himself that he was the adult in the situation. He opened his eyes, listened to the woods around him, and, with a chill in his blood, realized Eva was no longer within earshot.

"Eva!" he called.

No response.

"Eva!"

Still nothing.

He dropped his kindling for a second time and pulled his gun from its holster. "Eva, where are you?!" He ran into the trees where he had last seen her. "Eva!"

She materialized from behind a large trunk. "What?"

He let out a sigh of relief and let his blaster fall limp at his side. "I told you not to go too far!"

"Well, you found me, didn't you?" she asked, voice full of sass.

"Come on, we're going back."

Ronon was going to have to make a stern request from Sheppard when they got back to camp; no more commanding-officer-mandated father-daughter bonding time, no matter how amusing the colonel thought it might be.


	25. Stoking the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon builds the fire for the night and gets involved in a difficult conversation with Emma.

The sun was setting fast. They needed to get the fire started before it got too dark, too cold, and most importantly, before McKay got too hungry. Ronon picked up his pace and Eva, angry as she was, reciprocated, taking two quick steps for each of his. Arms full of kindling, they passed through the edge of the clearing and the sheltered muteness of the forest gave way to the sounds of laughter and lively banter.

"Over there," Ronon gestured to Eva. Sheppard, Teyla, and Rogers were already congregated in a spot that he considered as good as any to light their campfire.

They got closer to see Sheppard was filling a pot with water he had collected from the stream and Teyla was using a small rock against flagstone – like a makeshift mortar and pestle – to crush some leaves. Rogers was the only one not engrossed in her own task, as one of her hands was still occupied with holding the ice pack to her injured leg. With her free hand, Ronon noticed, she was vigorously rubbing her other arm to ward off the chill of the evening. Sheppard had apparently noticed, as well, for he stopped pouring water into the pot, took off his jacket, and suspended it from his hand in front of her. She stared up at him for a moment, then accepted the jacket and drew it close around her.

"Thank you," she said.

He resumed his work, but continued looking at her. "Thought you'd be used to the cold, Rogers. Didn't you go to school in Massachusetts? Boston winters are pretty rough, from what I remember."

"Well," she smiled, "you can take the girl out of Texas but you can't take the Texas out of the girl."

He screwed the cap back onto the jug of water. "Wouldn't want to," he smirked.

"And this doesn't help," she added, lifting up her ice pack.

A pain in Ronon's jaw distracted him from their interaction and he realized he had been clenching his teeth…hard. He loosened it up and focused on setting his kindling down, trying his best to keep it all in a neat stack. He glanced back up and saw that Eva, eyes narrowed to slits, was looking back and forth disapprovingly from Sheppard to Rogers. Unceremoniously, she abruptly dropped her firewood to the ground and the branches scattered in all directions. Rogers jumped at the sound and Teyla frowned at the mess.

"I'm gonna go set up my bag," Eva barked as she walked away.

"What the hell is your problem?" Ronon called to her.

"I already told you!" she shouted back.

Ronon glared at Sheppard. "Remind me again why she's here?"

Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, but it was Rogers's voice who answered him instead. "I asked for her to come along," she said. "If we find anything pertaining to Janus, she may be able to recognize it. Out of all of us, she's the only one who's ever met him, who's actually ever seen an active lab of his."

Ronon exhaled forcefully, pushed his sleeves to his forearms, and began restacking the kindling Eva had dropped.

"Where the hell is my Chili Mac?!" McKay's voice shrieked from the perimeter of their campsite.

They all looked over in his direction to see him tearing the contents of his pack apart.

"Somebody took my Chili Mac!"

Sheppard sloshed the remaining contents of the water jug around. "Well would you look at that," he said with boyish innocence. "Think I'll fetch more water before it gets too dark." A few quick strides later, he had disappeared into the trees.

"Everyone knows the Chili Mac is the best of all the MREs and I called dibs!" McKay shouted. "So 'fess up, which one of you was it?"

Teyla stood up, brushed her hands on her pants and sighed. "I should go help Rodney. I have a feeling I know where his Chili Mac went," she said with a quick eyebrow raise. She extended the flagstone, covered in a greenish-brown paste, to Rogers. "Apply this unction to the bruise on your leg," she instructed. "It will alleviate some of the pain and help it to heal more quickly."

"Thank you," Rogers smiled, taking the stone from her.

She nodded in her usual Athosian fashion before making her way over to a very pissed-off McKay.

Ronon returned to stacking the firewood until, out of midair, a branch appeared in the corner of his field of vision. He looked over to see Rogers standing above him and offering it to him.

"Thanks," he muttered as he took the stick from her. He watched her limp over to pick up a few more. "You don't need to help," he said, stopping her. "I'll get the last few on my own. You should keep resting that leg."

She handed him her branches, nodded, and carefully lowered herself back to the ground.

With the firewood recollected, he knelt down, dug a shallow pit in the Earth with his bare hands, and arranged a few pieces of wood into a tinder bundle. He then searched for a rock to use as flint and moss in place of char. He struck his knife against the flint and released a small spark.

He struck again and Rogers spoke. "We have matches, you know."

He looked over to her and wondered how long her eyes had been on him. "Don't need 'em," he grunted.

The flint struck for a third time and set the moss aflame. He brought it to the bundle of twigs, set it underneath, and blew on it to make the fire grow. He added a few larger branches and once the fire was well-stoked and crackling, he turned to look over his shoulder at Rogers who was still watching him intently. Despite his quiet audience, he rose to his feet and departed without explanation in search of a large rock. Finding one that was adequate, he returned and thrust it into the ground at the edge of the firepit where it loomed like a makeshift tombstone.

Rogers frowned. "What's that for?"

"It controls the smoke," he explained, then pointed to the darkening sky. "Directs it upward."

She tilted her head to the side with interest.

"I uh…" he rubbed his jaw with a dirt-covered hand, "I thought the smoke might bother your asthma."

"Oh." A small smile graced her lips. "It does. Thank you." She paused. "How did you know that's what it's called?"

"Eva told me."

"I see," she mused. "What's her deal, anyway? She seems more grumpy than usual."

"No idea," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Rogers raised a suspicious eyebrow. "She said she told you," she prodded.

Ronon sighed and added a log to the fire. "She thinks I put you in danger," he revealed.

"What? Why?"

"Says I waited too long to shoot the bull."

"That's ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "If anything, I put _you_ in danger. I put everyone in danger by thinking we could cross that pasture safely."

He shrugged. "We made it. Guess that's all that matters."

"I guess," she conceded. "Did she tell you anything else?" she asked with curiosity.

"Nope."

Rogers nodded slowly at his terse reply. Both were silent for a while after that, but she continued to watch him as he tended to the fire, the growing blaze popping merrily. An owl hooted lowly in the distance and the dry leaves, rustling against each other in soft susurrus, sounded almost like rain. Ronon eventually lifted his gaze, her eyes met his own and, in the dancing golden flames of the firelight, they glimmered like emeralds.

"She told me they're happy," she whispered.

"Who?"

"Eva's parents. You and me."

He grunted in response and lowered his eyes again.

"Have you…" she started tentatively, "have you ever thought about me like that?"

He stared at the flickering flames and smirked. "I don't think there's a man on base that hasn't thought about you like that when he gets a little lonely," he answered.

"God," she scoffed with disgust. "Not like that!" She hobbled to her feet and started to limp away, ice pack in hand. "Never mind. Forget I even brought it up."

"Rogers, wait." He rose to his full height and grabbed her by the arm to stop her from leaving, but she immediately tore her wrist out of his hand and backed away. "Whoa," he said, alarmed by her repulsion to him. He held his hands up, palms outstretched in front of him in a gesture of goodwill, and took a large step backward.

"I…I don't like it when men touch me," she confessed, her breathing heavy.

He glanced down to see she was gently cradling her wrist and, though it could have been a trick of the firelight, thought he saw fresh bruises encircling it.

Following his gaze, she hastily pulled down on the sleeve of Sheppard's jacket to cover them.

"Okay," he nodded. "I won't touch you again."

She lifted her eyes, daring to look directly into his.

"Why are you asking me this?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Is it 'cause of this whole Eva thing?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Yes," she admitted.

"A few weeks ago, you said you didn't want to mess around…with _anyone_," he reminded her.

"I know. You're right." She pressed her lips tightly together. "But…things have changed since then," she said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows. What things had changed?

"I know when we talked…" she took a deep breath, "we said there wasn't anything between us, but Eva is clearly proof that…that things could work out – really work out, Ronon." She looked down at the ground. "And I don't think finding the person I'm meant to be with is messing around."

Ronon looked away and shook his head. "Look, Rogers, you're smart and…and brave…"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, and he figured she wasn't convinced by what he was saying, though he meant it.

"But I'm sorry," he breathed. "The person I was meant to be with died ten years ago."

She swallowed hard and nodded forcefully and, without another word, turned to leave him to tend to the fire alone.

"Rogers," he called.

She looked hesitantly, almost hopefully, back at him.

He picked up the flagstone with the crushed leaves and held it out for her. "Don't forget this."

She first brushed the corner of her eye with the back of her knuckle, then took the stone from his grasp and walked away into the burgeoning darkness.


	26. Teeth Chattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the night on the planet turns cold, Emma and Ronon turn to each other for warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and cliche, but it's my favorite cliche. Hope you all enjoy it, too. :)

Ronon tossed restlessly in his sleeping bag and brought a hand to his ear to block out the incessant sound of teeth chattering, but to no avail. Turning back to the source of the noise, he watched as the dark shadow next to him visibly shivered in the darkness. He stared at her, burrowed into her bag, knees pulled to her chest, and he was reminded of the way foxes sleep in the winter – curled into a tight ball with their tails wrapped around them to conserve their body heat. Except for a small part of her face and head, nearly every inch of her was tucked away; a few loose strands of auburn hair peeked out the edge of her bag, shining almost violet in the moonlight. Plumes of fog floated into the air every time she released a breath and, judging by their frequency, as well as the grating clatter of molar against molar, he concluded there was no way she was asleep.

Unsure if it was frustration or pity that motivated him, he unzipped the edges of his sleeping bag and divested himself of its warmth, the shock of the wet chill of the autumn night raising the hairs on his arms, chest, and neck. He picked up his bag, now unfurled like a blanket, took two short steps to where she lay, and dropped it on top of her.

It landed with a soft _whuff_ and she jumped in alarm.

"It's just me," he quietly announced.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"You're cold," he stated as he sat back on the ground.

"No, I'm not."

"Bullshit. I haven't been able to fall asleep 'cause of all your teeth chattering over there."

"I can't take your sleeping bag," she protested, sitting up and clumsily pushing it off of her.

He watched as the bag slid, inner lining side down, into the dirt. "You didn't seem to mind taking Sheppard's jacket earlier tonight," he snapped, his voice unexpectedly tinged with jealousy. "I don't see how this is any different."

Rogers paused in her objections and he wondered if she, too, had detected the unwarranted resentfulness in his tone. For a moment she sat upright, unmoving in the cold night air, staring back at him.

"Ronon, you'll freeze," she finally whispered.

"I'll be fine," he said as he unfolded the floor-length leather duster he had been using as a pillow. "I've got my coat. Won't be the first night I've slept outside without a blanket." He yanked the coat on, pulling roughly at the collar to get it to lay flat across his back. "It's not that cold, anyway. Just take it and go to sleep." He made moves to lie back onto the damp earth, but she spoke again.

"We can at least share," she offered.

He ignored her, placing both his hands behind his head, lying on his back to gaze at the stars. But there were none – just clouds.

"Look, if you don't want to sleep next to me because of our conversation earlier, let's just pretend like it never happened." She drew in a breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."

He turned his head to get a glimpse of her; she was still sitting up, looking down at him. He had to admit, her offer was beyond tempting. Given the choice between lying cold and alone on the hard ground, or keeping a soft, young, and beautiful woman warm all night, he'd be an idiot to choose the former.

"I thought you didn't like it when men touched you," he said at last.

"Grab," she whispered. "I should have said grab…not touch."

He recalled the bruises on her wrist and wondered if someone _had_ recently grabbed her, grabbed her hard enough to leave a mark, and if so…who. His ribs squeezed uncomfortably in his chest and his heartbeat hastened at the thought.

"Please just share with me," she begged. "You'll be too cold to sleep and I'll feel too guilty. It doesn't make any sense for both of us to lose sleep over this."

He swallowed. "Fine," he conceded.

Her offer wasn't merely enticing, it was logical. At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he inched over to her.

Once he was at her side, Rogers nestled into her bedroll and lay on her back. Ronon pulled his previously-rejected sleeping bag over the two of them and did the same, his shoulder touching hers.

After a moment in which neither of them spoke nor moved, he felt Rogers lift her head. He watched as she evaluated the sleeping bag situation to realize that even if Ronon's bag was unzipped to its full size, with both of them lying on their backs, it only covered part of him, still leaving most of his body exposed to the bitter air.

"I'm a side sleeper," was all she said before she turned her back to him.

He let out a labored breath, then he too flipped onto his side. Rogers glanced briefly back at him as he moved close and slipped his elbow under her neck so she could rest her head upon the flesh of his bicep. Even through the leather sleeve, her ear was cold against his arm. He reached for the sleeping bag one last time and pulled it up to his shoulders, to her chin, making sure it completely covered them both. Uncertain of where to place his free hand, he tentatively decided to rest it on the rise of her hip.

"No teeth chattering," he whispered into her ear.

"No teeth chattering," she agreed with a quiet laugh. "Good night," she said as she settled in against him, pressing her body closer to his.

The scent of her hair and her skin, the heat of her body and her breath, the intimacy…it all overwhelmed his senses and he found himself instantly grateful for the extra layer of thick, synthetic fabric between her backside and his groin.

"'Night," he mumbled, realizing that being so close to a woman, especially to a woman as beautiful as the one lying in his arms, would keep him up much longer than any teeth chattering.


	27. Wakey Wakey MREs and Instant Oatmeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the team wakes up and gets ready to continue the mission, Ronon and Emma try to forget their previous sleeping arrangements. Eva's skills are put to the test over breakfast.

At first, she smelled woodsmoke. It hung in the light morning breeze, lingered on her hair, on her sleeping bag, and on the rough hands that had built and stoked the fire the night before, now wrapped around her waist, tending to her own warmth. There was sweat, too. Just a trace, dried on his skin by the cold, autumn air. The kind of pheromone-filled, somehow intoxicating rather than repulsing sweat of male exertion, now a day old. And finally, she smelled leather. It enveloped her; the rich and earthy memory of boots, of saddles, of tack sheds…of home. Body heat like a blazing furnace aside, that scent alone would have been enough to shelter her from the elements.

A small bird chirped in the distance and another one sang in reply. The sun was about to rise, which meant she only had a few more minutes with him. She barely knew the man, but had sensed from the moment she met him that he was the kind of person who rose with the sun. You can always tell who those people are when you first meet them. Teyla was one of them for sure, her father and sister, too, as was Sister Mary Catherine, her high-school Latin teacher … and Ronon. Though her bones were stiff, her hips sore from being molded to the flat and solid earth the entire night, she dared not move for fear of waking him prematurely, of losing his presence to the coming light of day.

* * *

Her back was thrust to the floor. A dreadful cold, rooted in her heart, permeated her entire body. A pale hand, fingers long and sprawling, sharp and black nails digging, anchored itself to her chest. It took from her…took what she could not get back. She screamed, cried as loud as she could, but produced no sound. But it continued to take…

It was her father's voice, muted and distant, that finally brought it all to an end.

"Hey…I, uh, didn't mean to wake you up."

She opened her eyes, relief upon realization that it had been a dream warming her blood like a long dram of Ruus wine. Thinking he was speaking to her, she blinked the sleep (and the horror) away and looked in his direction. But his back was to her and he was too far away for the comment to have been directed to her. She watched as he carefully slid out from under his sleeping bag, unzipped and laid out like a blanket, to reveal her mother lying next to him. At first, their sleeping arrangement seemed so normal that it took a second before Eva's dream-addled brain fully comprehended what was going on. She reminded herself that this Emma and this Ronon weren't her mother and father. They weren't husband and wife. In their own words, they were colleagues…at best. But for as much as they had both denied it, sharing a sleeping bag definitely didn't seem like something two people who "hardly knew each other" would do.

Suddenly uncomfortable, like she shouldn't be intruding in their waking moments, she took a deep, steadying breath and looked down at herself to see, in her nightmare-fueled frenzy, she had pushed her body halfway out of her own twisted bedroll, leaving her entire torso and arms exposed to the fall air. That explained her dream, at least.

With a crunch of wet leaves, heavy footsteps drew near and she shimmied back into her bag; Ronon was headed her way. Pretending to still be asleep, she quickly shut her eyes tight as he passed by to join Teyla at the campfire. She squinted one eye open and watched as Teyla greeted him with a knowing raise of an eyebrow before handing him an empty mug.

"What?" Ronon barked, the intonation of his question sounding more like a demand than anything else.

Teyla lifted the silver carafe off the fire and poured some of the steaming liquid into his cup. "Nothing," she said with a not-so-innocent smile.

The two stared at each other in loaded silence for a moment before Ronon spoke again, this time more quietly. "You got another one?"

Teyla's smile grew as she poured another cup of coffee and handed it to him.

Eva stole a surreptitious glance over to her parents' sleeping spot. Emma's lower half was still tucked away under the layers of nylon, but she sat up straight, concentrating as she put her contact lenses back in. She blinked a few times to settle her lenses and a yawn escaped her mouth. Right as she reopened her eyes, Ronon reappeared at her side. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked curiously up at him. He paused for a moment, then bent down and offered her one of the two cups of coffee in his hands.

"We didn't bring any cream or sugar with us."

Wide-eyed, she glanced down into the silver mug and took it from him. "I can drink it black." The look Emma then gave him was one of such astonishment, it made Eva wonder if she remembered their late-night balcony conversation from the week earlier. "Thanks."

He nodded, then turned back to sit with Teyla around the fire.

Eva smiled to herself and began the process of getting up and ready. By the time she had twisted her unwashed hair into a tight, no-nonsense braid, put her shoes and coat on, and rolled up her bag, Emma had already beaten her to the edge of the campfire and was sitting next to Teyla, sipping her coffee. Ronon was too busy tearing away the top of an MRE with his teeth to greet her, but she took the open spot next to him anyway.

"Coffee?" Teyla offered.

"No thanks," she replied with a shake of her head. "It'll stunt my growth."

Emma, amused, snorted quietly into her cup.

"How's your leg?" Eva asked with a quick lift of the chin in Emma's direction.

She swallowed a hot mouthful of coffee before answering. "Painful. But getting better. Thank you for that salve, by the way," she added, directing her attention to Teyla.

The Athosian nodded and smiled.

"I should be able to walk today without any issues." She opened her mouth to say something else, but closed it and shook her head.

Eva narrowed her eyes. "What?" she prodded.

Emma shook her head again. "It's nothing. I was just gonna say that you seem to be in a better mood than you were yesterday."

Eva shrugged. "Guess I woke up on the right side of the bedroll this morning."

"Good," Ronon mumbled through a mouthful of rehydrated sausage. "Maybe you'll be less of a pain today."

Eva glowered at him and thought about saying something back, but was interrupted by Sheppard's arrival. He appeared from the edge of the woods, tightening his belt, and headed toward their campsite. "All right, gang," he called. "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"

Teyla raised an eyebrow at him. "Eggs and bakey?"

"Wakey wakey MREs and instant oatmeal just doesn't have the same ring to it." He looked around at the group. "So…how'd everybody sleep?" There was a roguish glint in his eyes and Eva thought she felt his gaze linger a fraction of a second longer on Ronon and Emma than the others.

"Very well," Teyla answered with her usual pleasant smile.

Ronon merely shrugged in response, muttered the word "fine," and dug his fork deep into his breakfast bag.

Emma, on the other hand, took a long drink of coffee and refrained from replying at all.

The colonel's mischief was contagious and it bubbled inside Eva's chest. She couldn't resist. "Was anybody else cold?" she asked with a smirk.

Emma stared fixedly down at the ground and Ronon sputtered on the bite of food he was taking. Sheppard whacked him on the back a few times to help clear his airway.

Eva tried to hide her grin. Maybe there was something there.

Sheppard gave Ronon one last smack on the back, then rubbed his hands together to warm them up. "Where's McKay?"

"Rodney has yet to rise," Teyla replied.

"That lazy…" Eva couldn't hear the rest. He marched over to McKay's sleeping spot, knelt down, and with one swift motion stripped the sleeping bag off the scientist who shot straight upright and yelled.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he screamed.

"Rise and shine, Rodney. Everybody's up but you. Get your ass outta bed." Sheppard returned to the campfire and sat on the other side of Ronon. "Ok, here's the plan." He tore open a packet of dry oatmeal and dumped it into a cup. "Take another 15 minutes for breakfast, then we'll walk the other five hours until we make it to the settlement. We'll poke around, see if we find anything, and go from there." He picked up the kettle, poured the boiling water onto his oatmeal and gave it a swirl.

Eva raised her hand like she did in school.

Sheppard looked up from his mug, raised his eyebrows, and played along. "Yes, Miss Dex?"

"Do I get to carry a gun today?" she asked.

"Do you know how to use one?" he asked back.

"Yes."

He lifted his submachine gun and showed it to her. "Ok, then… what's this?"

"FN P-90. FN for _Fabrique Nationale_," she said with a heavy French accent. "It's Belgian."

"Very good." He turned to Ronon. "Chewie, hand me your gun."

"No fucking way," he answered, mouth once again full with his breakfast.

"Never mind..." He looked over to Emma. "Doctor, your sidearm please?"

She obliged, pulled the firearm from her holster and carefully handed it to him.

"And this?" he asked Eva.

"Beretta 92FS."

He gave the pistol back to Emma, and unholstered his own sidearm. "What about this one?"

She smiled slyly. "You don't like the Berettas. The grip is too bulky. You prefer the Para-Ordnance P-14 Limited."

"Caliber?"

".45."

He started to re-holster his weapon, but Ronon stopped him and held his hand out in an expectant gesture. Sheppard frowned, but handed him the gun anyway.

"Just because you can memorize all that stuff, doesn't mean you know how to use one." Ronon released the magazine, then locked the slide to the rear and checked the chamber for any remaining bullets. Unloaded, he offered the gun to Eva. "Clean it," he ordered.

Eva took the gun from him and inspected it closely. "Is there something wrong with it?" she asked Sheppard.

He shook his head.

"Have you fired it since you last cleaned it?"

He shook his head again.

Everyone's eyes were on her. It was a test. She looked at the gun once more, contemplated the task for a moment, then handed it back to Sheppard. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Trick question. You shouldn't clean a firearm in the field unless there's something wrong with it. You risk losing a piece or getting debris in the mechanism. You should wait until you're in a more secure area." She glanced over to Ronon and she could have sworn he was trying to conceal a smile. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

Ronon handed the magazine over to Sheppard, who reloaded the gun and returned it to his holster. "Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. Looks like the apple didn't fall too far from the tree on that one."

She had passed the test…with flying colors. She leaned back in her seat, crossed her ankles, and put both hands behind her head, beaming with confidence. "So, do I get to carry today?" she asked again.

Sheppard and Ronon consulted each other in non-verbal conference until they both looked back at Eva. They spoke simultaneously.

"NO."


	28. The Portunos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team splits up to explore the planet's village. Ronon, Emma and Eva visit a tavern where they get more than they bargained for.

Though the aerial MALP had located and mapped out the settlement before they arrived, it was still larger than they anticipated. Clearly an agrarian culture, many of the locals possessed their own farms, and all the acres of farmland meant the settlement stretched far and wide. They passed from homestead to homestead, making conversation with anyone out working in the fields.

"Have you been visited by the Wraith in recent months?" "Have the Ancestors ever returned here?" "Do you know if there might be a repository of Ancient knowledge on this planet?" "Have you ever seen a strange man mysteriously come and go as he pleases, sometimes disappearing entirely?"

They found myriad ways to rephrase their questions, to gather as much intel as possible without arising suspicion, but the response was always the same no matter whom they asked.

"Repository of Ancient knowledge? Now, I don't know anything about that. But if you're looking for the best _crop-I-grow-animal-I-raise-cheese-from-the-mammal-I-milk_ in town, feel free to stop on by!"

It was getting old.

After nearly six hours of walking, they finally reached the edges of the heart of the civilization. Sprawling fields turned to smaller plots of land, which eventually turned to stone cottages. Sprinkled in between the humble residences were small businesses marked by signs for cobblers, blacksmiths, leatherworkers, and more hanging above their thresholds. When it became clear they would not be able to investigate the entirety of the settlement before dark, Sheppard decided to split the team up.

"Okay. Ronon, Rodney, and Eva, you take the western part of the town. Teyla and Rogers, you're with me; we'll take the eastern section."

Ronon glared at Sheppard. There was no way in hell he was going to be left alone with the two people in the group who annoyed him the most. And the fact that Sheppard had conveniently selected the two women to be _his_ companions only added salt to the wound.

Right as Shepard began to reply to Ronon's evil eye with a lift of his shoulders in a _hey, I don't make the rules_ kind of shrug (even though he most definitely did make the rules), Eva interjected.

"No," she protested.

Sheppard turned to her with surprise. "I'm sorry. There must be something in my ear. I could have just sworn I heard you say 'no.'"

"I don't like that group." She glanced at McKay and gave him a half-apologetic head tilt. "No offense."

"Hey, I'm not exactly fond of you either, kid," McKay replied.

Eva sidled over to Rogers, linked arms with her, and rested her head on her shoulder, before contorting her face into what was supposed to be a cute pout. "I want my mommy to come with me." With her heavy brow and multiple nose rings, she pulled off cute about as well as Ronon did.

Sheppard looked back and forth between Eva and Rogers, who offered him a shrug and a shake of the head indicating she didn't have a preference either way. Ronon raised a bargaining eyebrow at Sheppard. Scientist for scientist; it was a fair trade.

"I very much doubt that Ronon, Rodney, and Eva would accomplish as much together as we would hope," Teyla said diplomatically. In other words, McKay talked too much, Ronon didn't talk enough, and Eva talked back. No local would tell them anything.

"Fine," Sheppard conceded. "Teyla and Rodney, you're with me. Rogers and Eva, you're with Ronon. Rendez-vous here at 15:00. Stay on your radios."

They parted ways and continued their exploration of the settlement, asking villagers their rehearsed litany of questions. Rogers ended up doing most of the talking, as Teyla predicted, for neither Ronon nor Eva made the locals particularly willing to share anything with them. The linguist, on the other hand, could get anyone – the male population in particular – to stop and chat with her. She would flip her hair, bat her eyelashes, touch them on the arm…her usual round of tricks. After one particularly lengthy conversation that ended with the villager kissing her hand, she returned to debrief the other two.

"What'd he say?" Eva asked.

Rogers wiped the back of her hand on her pants. "He was a bit more forthcoming that some of the others."

Ronon snorted under his breath. Forthcoming was right.

Her eyes zeroed in on his so fast, he felt his breath catch.

"You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar," she quipped.

He couldn't deny that. Her honey was definitely what that man had been after.

"Anyway, seems like the Wraith haven't culled this planet since before his birth. So at least thirty years."

Ronon frowned. "That's a long time."

Rogers nodded in agreement. "Suspiciously long."

"Nothing about Janus, though?" Eva eagerly asked.

Rogers shook her head. "No. Unfortunately not."

Eva let out a sigh of frustration. "This is going nowhere. Nobody knows anything, nobody will tell us anything, and I'm gonna be stuck here forever. Can we just call it quits?" she whined.

"No," Ronon said gruffly. Sheppard had given them orders to talk with the traders and other inhabitants of the settlement and they weren't going to stop just because she was fed up.

"I have to pee, anyway," she groaned.

"Why didn't you go in the forest?" he asked.

"Because I didn't have to go then."

Rogers gestured in front of them. "Looks like there's a tavern up ahead." She turned to Ronon. "It wouldn't be a bad place to gather more intel. We could talk with the patrons…the bartender. Out of anyone in the village, he probably knows its secrets better than anyone."

She had a point. If they wanted to maximize their efforts, going to a place with a high concentration of villagers was likely their best bet.

"I'm getting hungry anyway," she shrugged.

"Fine," he grunted. The wooden building with its humble thatched roof and swinging iron sign looked reputable enough.

Ronon pushed open the door with a tinkling of a bell and the sound of voices and laughter filled the air. It was peak lunch hour and the place was packed with people. Eva advanced past him and immediately made her way to the rear of the establishment in search of the latrines. Ronon followed her closely but not before turning back to look at Rogers. "Find us a seat at the bar."

She nodded in agreement and disappeared into the crowd, while Ronon refocused his attention on Eva. She opened the door to the latrine, but he intercepted it with his hand.

"What are you doing?" Eva asked. "Don't come in here with me!"

He pushed past her and poked his head into the dingy room to ensure that it was secure.

"We both know Sheppard assigned you to me so I could keep you safe. So, I'm making sure this place is safe." He knocked on the sides of the walls to make sure none of them were false, pushed to see how far the window would open, and checked to make sure the bolt was functioning. "Lock the door," he said, backing out of the room.

"Duh," she replied with a quick shake of her head. "Now go away."

He left her to do her business and returned to the common area. A head taller than almost everyone around him, he effortlessly surveyed the crowded tavern until he pinpointed the only redhead in the establishment. He joined her at the bar where she sat with a basket of bread in front of her.

He glanced at her briefly, but kept a watchful eye on the crowd. "You have a chance to talk with the barkeep?"

"No, not yet." She reached past him to grab a small loaf from the basket. "I haven't even seen him." She broke it in half and handed him a piece. "Where did you go?"

He looked down at the bread and took it from her. "Went to make sure the bathroom was safe." He tore off a piece of the sourdough with his teeth, still eyeing the other patrons of the establishment. There was an elderly woman at the end of the bar huddled over a steaming mug of hot tea, a raucous group of men gathered tightly around a large center table, likely farmers based on the smell of sweat and manure that wafted their way, two older men engaged in some type of tabletop game in the far corner… Everyone seemed to have their own place, their own group, their own routine. As Ronon's eyes swept over the room one more time, a sickly man near the front window dressed in rumpled clothes drew his gaze. He was looking directly at them.

Ronon leaned close to Rogers and whispered in her ear. "Don't make it obvious…but take a look at the man near the window."

Emma lowered her head and flicked her eyes up toward the man Ronon had indicated. She swallowed her bit of bread. "Okay?" she questioned in a hushed voice.

"He's acting strange."

She took a quick swig of water. "Strange, how?"

"He won't stop staring at us," he murmured, shifting in his chair. "We should get out of here as soon as we can."

She let out a quiet breath of air that, in their still-close proximity, ruffled his beard. She smiled up at him. "I don't think he's looking at me any differently than certain men on base do."

He glanced at the man again, whose eyes were still fixed on them. Maybe she was right, but he didn't want to take any chances.

"Once Eva's done, we should lea – what are you doing?"

Rogers had taken one of his hands in hers, laced her fingers between his, and brought his hand to her thigh. Sweeping her hair to one side, she turned her gaze toward the wall behind the bar. He could see her rapid pulse beating beneath her pale skin in the hollow of her throat.

She was anxious.

His hand briefly and involuntarily tightened around the flesh of her leg. Apparently, so was he.

"Is he still staring?" she asked, voice low.

Ronon stole another furtive look over to the villager. She was right. It was a small gesture, but with his hand on her leg, he had staked his claim. And he knew enough about his own effect on others that a man like the villager wouldn't dare to challenge him.

"No," he admitted.

She directed her gaze back to him. "Told you," she chirped before popping another bite of bread into her mouth.

He looked over Rogers's shoulder to see Eva emerge from the latrine and make her way toward them.

"Shoulda just gone in the forest," she muttered.

He rolled his eyes.

Eva brushed her hands against her pants to dry them off and peered into the basket of bread. "So, what's for lunch?"

Ronon felt Rogers start as the barkeep, with a loud thump, set two mugs of ale in front of them. They turned around to see a large man with a ruddy complexion and a gray moustache smiling jovially at them. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows and had flung a grubby rag over his shoulder.

"We didn't ask for these," she smiled.

The man took the rag into his hand and began mopping up the ale that had spilled on the counter. "On the house," he said to them, "for the couple."

Ronon narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

Rogers shot him a reproachful glare, which he took to mean that she thought he could have asked more politely.

He tossed the towel back over his shoulder. "I've been doing this long enough to recognize a pair of newlyweds when I see them. Might you two require lodging this evening?" he asked with a loaded smirk.

Emma's back straightened and Ronon quickly removed his hand from her leg. He could hear Eva disguise her laughter as a cough from behind him.

"We still have a few fine rooms left upstairs," he offered. "One for the two of you and one for your…uh…" he looked over to Eva.

"Sister," Ronon supplied.

"No thank you," Rogers answered politely. "That won't be necessary. We're just passing through."

"We have hourly rates, as well," the barkeep persisted.

"Really. That's all right," Rogers said with more firmness, flushing red. "We were wondering if you could answer a few questions for us, though."

As Rogers asked some circuitous questions that might lead them to the location of a secret lab, Ronon glanced back to the window where the man had been watching them earlier…but he was gone. Maybe he had lost interest in Rogers and left, but he didn't recall hearing the twinkle of the tavern door's bell any time in the last few minutes. Uneasy, he laid a hand on Eva's back and ushered her a bit closer to him before returning his attention to the conversation between the tavern owner and Rogers.

"I don't know anything about that," the barkeep said, "but rumor round town has it that there's strange folk asking similar questions out on the east side of the village."

"Yes," Rogers nodded. "Those would be our friends."

"So you haven't ever heard of a man disappearing into thin air?" Eva asked. "Or stories of one of the Ancestors returning to this planet?"

"'Fraid not," he shook his head.

"Sounds like the Portunos," the old woman at the end of the bar laughed.

"Calista!" the bartender chastised.

She brushed him off with a wave of her hand.

Rogers turned to the woman with interest. "The Portunos? What's that?"

"It was a story my mother would tell me as a child." By this point, the bartender was glowering at her, but she paid him no mind. "Long ago, the Portunos was a man – some say one of the Ancestors – who would come to the village every lunar cycle. He would stay for several days and in return for the village's hospitality, he would bless the herds of cattle and offer the inhabitants of this planet protection against the Wraith."

Rogers and Eva exchanged a glance. "And does he still come here?"

The woman shook her head. "The Portunos eventually stopped his visits and not too long after, the entire planet fell to the Wraith. For centuries, our people would tell stories of the Portunos and curse his abandonment of our home."

"But not anymore?" Rogers asked. "You're the first person to mention this Portunos."

The woman leaned closer and lowered her voice. "It has been a generation since the Wraith culled our planet. Some believe, unbeknownst to us, that the Portunos has returned in secret…but they fear that speaking his name will cause him to abandon us once more."

"But not you?" Ronon asked.

Her eyes, alight with a vitality that did not match her decrepit exterior, shifted to him. "I believe there are other things, other forces at work, that have kept the Wraith away."

_What the hell did that mean?_ he wondered. Before he could ask, Rogers was already on her next question.

"What made people think he was one of the Ancestors?"

"Like you said, dear, the legend states that he could walk through walls…vanish at will." The woman then gave her a dubious look, debating whether she should tell them more. "The temple of the Portunos is long abandoned," she finally continued. "It is north of the settlement, hidden amongst a grove of nettle trees." She hesitated. "But take heed; no one has been there for many years."

"Why not?" Eva whispered, absorbed in the woman's tale.

"Many who dared go there in the past fell gravely ill."

The hairs on the back of Ronon's neck stood on end, but not because of the woman's warning... He sensed a new presence in their vicinity. He glanced over his shoulder and laid eyes on the staring villager from earlier. The man was now seated at the bar, a short distance away, watching them closely. It only took a millisecond, and had Ronon blinked, he would have missed it, but he saw the man's eyes dart to the two mugs of ale. Just as Rogers was exuberantly thanking the woman next to her for sharing her story, Ronon interrupted by placing his hand on the back of her head and leaning close to her in a would-be gesture of affection. He pressed his cheek to hers and whispered into her ear.

"The ale is poisoned." He pulled away from her and she stared, wide-eyed, back at him.

Suddenly, Rogers grimaced and gripped tightly to the bar for support, clutching to her stomach with her other hand.

Ronon leapt out of his seat and took her forearms in his hands. His heart was pounding. Had she drunk some of the ale already?

"Emma?" He made to reach for his blaster, but she snatched his wrist in her hand with surprising agility. He wasn't above shooting them out of the tavern, but she apparently had some objections. "Are you all right?"

She nodded through closed eyes, pain etched across her features. She took a deep breath in through her nose and opened her eyes. "It's just, um…" she hesitated, looking for an explanation until her eyes fell upon Eva, "it's the baby," she whispered to Ronon, her fingers splayed across her stomach.

_What?_

It took him a full five seconds to catch up with her plan, but when he did, relief washed over him. It was a ruse – a way to get out of drinking the ale, to get out of the tavern, without arising too much suspicion.

"Of course," he nodded, helping her to stand. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, reached quickly into his pocket to place a few silver pieces onto the bar, and took one of her hands in his.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Rogers croaked to the bartender, doubled over slightly as she stood in Ronon's grip. "But I think we need some rest," she said, bringing her hand along with Ronon's to her abdomen to emphasize precisely what she meant by "we."

"It's still early," Ronon supplied. "She's only six," he looked directly at Eva as he uttered the number, "weeks along. Don't want to take any risks."

He hoped that Eva would get his meaning – their six was precisely what he wanted her to watch.

"If you need to rest in one of the beds upstairs, please do," the bartender offered.

Rogers shook her head graciously. "You're too kind, but I think it's best that we return home. Let's go," she whispered gently to Ronon. "Fair day to you all," she nodded to the group.

"Stay close, sister," Ronon called to Eva.

As they exited, Eva came up behind them and laid a comforting hand on Rogers's back, hiding what she was actually doing: pulling Ronon's gun from its holster.

So she had understood.

He heard the soft, telltale whine of the blaster switching from kill to stun. Infuriating as Eva was, she was damn clever, too. It must have been something she got from her mother.


	29. The Temple of the Portunos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes to investigate the Temple of the Portunos. When half of the team are suddenly stricken with illness, it is up to Teyla, Ronon, and Rogers to investigate.

To keep up appearances, Ronon secured his arm around Rogers and, together, they hobbled down the streets of the village with Eva close behind, Ronon's blaster concealed under her jacket. He wasn't sure how convincing those appearances were, though. Clad in leather and earth tones, Ronon and Eva blended in well enough with the people of the planet, but Rogers, dressed head to toe in black military tactical gear with a handgun strapped to her leg, didn't quite look the part of expectant mother. Still, he held her close to him.

After a few quick twists and turns through the village to throw off anyone who might be following them, Ronon led them into the relative safety and privacy of an alleyway. Rogers released herself from his protective hold, stood up straight, and drew her sidearm.

"Don't use that unless you have to," he said. "It's too loud and too lethal."

"I'm sorry, but I'm no good at hand-to-hand combat," she replied, releasing the safety.

"Then stay back," he ordered.

He glanced down at Eva and held his hand expectantly out to her. With a lamenting sigh, she returned his blaster to him, only to replace it with a knife not five seconds later. The three waited in silence for a moment, ready, lying in wait for anyone who might follow them into the alley. When no one did, Ronon finally spoke.

"That was quick thinking in there," he said to Rogers, cuffing her on the shoulder.

She staggered a bit under the weight of his hand, but smiled up at him. "Well, I had some inspiration." She gestured in Eva's direction. "But I still don't understand. Why would they poison the ale?"

Ronon shook his head. "It could have been a sedative. Wanted to kidnap us rather than kill us."

"Do you think they were trying to hide something? Like they didn't want us asking questions?"

"No," Ronon answered. "The barkeep gave us the ale before any of us started asking questions."

"You think he was in on it?" Eva mused.

Ronon turned to her. "Definitely."

"Aw man," she whined. "I thought he was nice."

"He was creepy," Rogers countered.

Ronon thought back on the whole interaction and a hint of clarity dawned on him. "That's why he kept pushing the room upstairs. It was a cover."

"Once the poison began to take effect, it would have looked like we had just gotten tired and needed to rest," Rogers said with wide eyes, finishing his thought.

"They didn't want to draw attention to what they were doing," he alleged.

Rogers appeared deep in thought and when she spoke again, she lowered her voice. "But why only two mugs instead of three?" she asked, looking over to Eva.

Ronon furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"We should radio the others." She tapped on her earpiece. "Colonel Sheppard," she said quietly, "this is Rogers. We think someone just tried to roofie us in the local pub. Something fishy is going on here."

"Copy that, Doctor," Sheppard responded. "We're not getting much from the locals, anyway. Meet you at the rendez-vous point."

Rogers looked from Ronon to Eva and back before she replied. "Actually…I think we should meet somewhere else."

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

Enough people in the tavern had overheard their conversation with the old woman; there was plenty of evidence to suggest the temple of the Portunos would be their next stop. And if that staring villager and the barkeep had been willing to poison him and Rogers, it was only a matter of time before people started looking for them.

"We should already be heading back to the gate," Ronon whispered to Sheppard. "We're walking into a trap and you know it."

"Look, Rambo," McKay snapped before Sheppard could defend his decision. "We did not walk seventy-five kilometers over fifteen hours so that we could chat with a couple of farmers, take a look around, and turn back. Believe it or not, I'm sick of being here, too."

"Oh, we believe it, Rodney," Sheppard sighed.

"I'm being serious! My back hurts, I'm exhausted, and I've got a blister the size of Saskatchewan on my right heel, but I'll be damned if we –" He stopped short, clapped his hand to his forehead and let out a strangled groan.

"McKay?" Sheppard came to a halt and wrinkled his brow.

"My head!" His voice raised in pitch and was tinged with panic. "Oh my God, my head is _killing_ me!"

"Add it to the list," Ronon muttered, brushing past him.

Teyla walked up to McKay, took his canteen from his pack and shook it. It sounded full. Frustrated, she shoved it back at his chest. "You are merely dehydrated, Rodney," she scolded.

McKay untwisted the cap and downed half the bottle in a matter of seconds, water dripping down his chin and onto his shirt.

"Easy there, Baywatch," Sheppard said. "We've got young viewers with us today."

Eva pretended to retch. "I'll avert my eyes," she called as she continued on the path to the nettle grove. She only made it a few paces before she, too, gripped her head.

"Sympathy pains?" Sheppard joked, jogging to meet up with her. He made it as far as the girl had before he doubled over in complete agony.

"Sheppard?!" Ronon broke away from the pack and sprinted toward the colonel and Eva.

Rogers and Teyla exchanged a look of worry.

"Go," Teyla instructed. "I can care for Rodney."

With a quick nod, Rogers followed in Ronon's path, but approached the group ahead with much more caution than the Satedan, in full sprint, had previously exhibited.

Eva stood with her hand still pressed to her forehead, eyes clamped shut as if to keep the pain at bay. Sheppard, meanwhile, was faring much worse. Ronon had barely reached him when he stumbled and lost his balance. His friend caught him before he fell, and from under his arm, supported his weight like a crutch.

Rogers appeared a few seconds later and with a maternal gesture that far surpassed her age or experience, brought a gentle hand to Eva's cheek as she asked if she was all right. A surge of an emotion Ronon had never felt in his life coursed through him as he watched the two of them. Warmth rose from his chest to his neck and finally settled, catching like molasses, in the back of his throat. Before he could even attempt to identify the feeling or assign a name to it, he was abruptly interrupted by his commanding officer bending at the waist and throwing up the instant oatmeal he'd had for breakfast right at Ronon's feet.

"Oh my God," he heard Rogers exclaim as she angled herself and Eva away from the scene.

"We're turning around," Ronon ordered, half dragging the colonel down the hill so they could reconvene with Teyla and McKay, who had distanced themselves even farther from the nettle grove. Thankfully, it seemed like the more space they put between themselves and the wood, the better Eva and Sheppard seemed to feel.

"The hell was that?" Ronon shouted, vigorously wiping his boot in the grass.

The colonel swished a bit of water in his mouth, then spat it on the ground. "Sorry about that, Chewie."

"The temple…"

Ronon looked to Rogers and saw that she was gazing up the hill.

"The woman warned us. She said people got sick when they visited it."

"Like I said," Ronon gritted his teeth, "bad idea."

Teyla shook her head and scanned the group. "I feel fine."

"Yeah?" Sheppard asked shortly. "Go run up that hill and then tell us how you feel."

The fearless Athosian proceeded to do just that. She went as far as Eva and Sheppard had, perhaps farther, waited a moment, then stretched out her arms. "I feel nothing," she called.

It was then that Ronon realized he hadn't either. No headache, no nausea… "I didn't get sick, either."

Teyla returned to the group. "Perhaps because Ronon and I are from this galaxy, we possess some sort of resistance to the effects of the temple," she suggested.

"Then why didn't I feel anything?" Rogers asked.

They all looked at one another, trying to find some quality that Teyla, Ronon, and Rogers shared in common.

McKay snapped his fingers in the annoying way he always did whenever he had an idea. "Hang on," he muttered, fishing in his TAC vest pocket for something. He pulled out an Ancient scanner, turned it on, and made his way toward the thicket of nettle trees.

"I thought you said there was interference with Ancient technology on this planet," Sheppard yelled to him. "That's why we couldn't take a Jumper!"

McKay ignored him, walking as close as he could to the copse before turning back around – the pain apparently too great for him to endure.

"Intermittent!" he called back.

"What?" Sheppard shouted.

"_Intermittent_ interference with our Ancient tech," he corrected. "You see, the first few generations of aerial MALPs used by the Atlantis expedition relied solely on Earth technology, but recently we've been working on a new generation of them, integrating bits of Ancient tech into their operating systems to make them more self-sufficient. For example, the older generations of our aerial MALPs were either programmed to follow a predetermined flight path or they were remotely piloted from the other side of the gate. So, to make them less user reliant, we incorporated some Ancient technology into the navigational systems of these newer MALPs, which in turn makes them capable of self-guidance."

"Your point, Rodney?"

"We decided to not take a Jumper to this planet because about twenty minutes into the MALP's flight, it lost navigation. Everything else was working – mapping sensors, atmospheric sensors, engine – they were all in perfect order, but the MALP nearly went down because the Ancient tech suddenly stopped working. Luckily it still had the old, Earth tech remote guidance built in as a backup so we were able to step in and take the controls, so to speak, before it crash landed."

"McKay!" Sheppard shouted. "Ronon just had to hold my hair back like I was a drunk sorority girl at a frat party while I puked on his shoes and you are explaining aerial MALP technology to me! Cliffs Notes! Why do we care?"

"Because it's not what Ronon, Teyla, and Dr. Rogers have in common with each other that made them resistant." He paused for a moment to ramp up the suspense.

Frustrated with McKay's usual song and dance, Sheppard turned his back to the group, thrust both his hands through his messy hair and muttered, "They don't pay me enough…"

"It's what you, me, and Little Miss Sunshine have in common that made us sick. And it explains why you," he looked at Sheppard, "got sicker than the rest of us."

"The gene," Eva said.

"The Ancient gene," McKay confirmed with a nod. "When I took my scanner up there, the closer I got, the more it wigged out – "

Sheppard turned back around. "Wigged out? Is that the scientific terminology?"

McKay talked over the interruption. "Just like the closer we got, the sicker we felt. There has to be a connection."

Rogers gestured up the hill. "That temple – it's gotta be his lab. And this whole…" she searched for the right word, "_sickness_ was Janus' way of making sure he could keep the other Ancients away from his illicit research."

Sheppard exhaled sharply. "So what do we do?"

"We're so close," Rogers said as she turned to the colonel. "Please just let me check it out. At least for enough time to take pictures and do a few rubbings. If it's truly a temple, then there's bound to be some writing, probably in Ancient. I'll stay on my radio the whole time and I can even take a P-90 with me." She paused and her voice dropped as insistence gave way to earnestness. "This is the best lead we have to getting Eva back home."

Ronon glanced over to the girl. Biting the inside of her cheek, her head was bowed and she was avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Sheppard crossed his arms. "I'm not letting you go in there alone."

He was damn right about that.

"I'll go with her," Ronon volunteered immediately. He still thought it was a bad idea; but then, he supposed that was all the more reason to accompany her.

"As will I," Teyla added.

Sheppard nodded slowly. "Okay. Teyla and Ronon will escort you to the temple and keep guard. Take as many photos and gather as much info as you can." He looked from Rogers, to Teyla, and finally let his eyes come to rest on Ronon. "I want you in and out of there in twenty minutes."

* * *

The walk was short and as they drew closer, the nettle trees grew larger. They stood tall, imposing, as though they had been there for eons, their bright yellow sawtooth leaves fluttering peacefully in the light breeze. Ronon, Teyla, and Rogers wound their way through the thick, moss-laden trunks until the temple loomed over them. It was a perfectly square structure all the way around, made entirely of stone. Instead of windows, it bore dozens of small, identical arches which flanked a massive center arch on every side, each one the height of the structure itself. Shrubs and other opportunistic plants had rooted themselves along the cracks in the walls and on the roof, bringing the faintest hint of life to the long-abandoned ruins.

Ronon heard the sound of a zipper next to him and watched Rogers extract her camera from her pack. She separated herself from the other two and began taking pictures. Instantly focused on her task, it appeared that she wasn't going to waste any time.

"I think, perhaps…"

Ronon snapped his head toward Teyla; seeing the linguist at work, in her element, he had almost forgotten she was there.

"…I should patrol the perimeter," Teyla finished with a coy smile. She disappeared into the thicket, leaving Ronon and Rogers alone together.

Rogers lowered her camera for a moment and contemplated the north wall of the temple. She sucked in a quick breath. "Will you stand by that arch?" she asked him.

"Why?"

"I need something to show scale," she explained. "And since you're so big –"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Tall," she quickly corrected with a flush of pink. "Since you're so _tall_, having you in the frame will help give an impression of the size of this place."

"Fine." He traipsed over to the entrance of the temple and stood there.

"Say 'cheese.'"

"What?"

She snapped the photograph without a response, then clicked through the photos she had already taken on the camera's display, making sure they were turning out.

Ronon peered inside the temple and let out a quiet _whoa_. "Hey, Rogers?" he called over his shoulder. "Come take a look at this."

She arrived at his side, followed his gaze, and inhaled a gasp once she saw it. Standing nearly nine feet tall in the center of the temple was a statue of a seated man, two-faced and bearded. He was naked from the waist up, a swath of stone fabric draped loosely over his lower half and an outstretched arm. In one hand, he held a key, in the other, a cane.

"This is it." Her hushed whisper echoed against the walls of the ruins. "Holy shit, this is it."

She hurried to the foot of the statue and allowed herself a moment to stare up at it in awe. She moved closer, tentative at first, then ran a languid hand along the folds of the drapery, up the length of the cane, down the sculpted muscle of the figure's forearm, eventually finishing at his fingers. Ronon had to turn his back to her, had to consciously stop himself from imagining her hands exploring not stone, but skin.

"I think I found something," she stated.

Ronon dared to face her again. She was now kneeling, brushing away centuries of dirt and lichen to reveal an Ancient engraving that lay beneath. She read it aloud. "_Tempus fugit. Ottionam vostram facete_."

"What does it mean?" Ronon asked as he knelt next to her.

She turned to look at him and translated. "Time is fleeting…make your choice."

Shrouded in the shadow of the great statue, they regarded each other in near silence, the only sound in the temple the whispering resonance of their breathing. As he thought about how soft and inviting her eyes seemed, he realized he had never looked at her this closely for this long. He had never noticed that her eyelashes were red, or that her nose was slightly crooked, or that she had the smallest, faintest freckle on her bottom lip…the bottom lip he was staring at.

Had she moved closer, or had he? A trace of her signature lavender scent, now mingled with that of wood smoke and autumn air ensnared him, clouding his thoughts and dismantling his defenses. He cleared his throat before it took total hold on him and averted his gaze.

"Make your choice?" he asked, getting to his feet. "The hell does that mean?"

Her eyes immediately hardened and she once again retreated into the role of focused, analytical linguist. The transition happened so fast, Ronon wondered if she had even sensed his desire at all; but when she finally spoke, her voice trembled. "I think we have to choose either the scepter or the key."

"Choose it for what?"

She looked up at the two-faced man and pondered her answer. "To open the door," she replied. "Janus was the Roman god of doors and I would bet anything this statue is somehow the entryway to his lab."

"So then it's the key," Ronon said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Keys open doors."

She shook her head. "That seems too easy."

"So you don't think it's the key?"

"I don't think it's _not_ the key."

"What?"

"I just think there's more to it." She lifted her camera and took a few last photographs of the statue before putting it away.

As soon as she started a rubbing of the Ancient inscription at the sculpture's sandaled feet, there was a crack of twigs and rustling of leaves outside the temple. Ronon spun toward it and aimed his gun.

"Stay behind me," he said to Rogers, mentally cursing how exposed they were due to the open layout of the temple.

"It is only me, Ronon," Teyla announced before anyone could act.

With a sigh of relief, he lowered his weapon.

"Our time is nearly up. We should start heading back before we cause Colonel Sheppard further annoyance. I imagine Rodney and Eva are already providing that in abundance." She looked toward Ronon and then to Dr. Rogers. "Did you discover anything new?"


	30. The Stars at Night Are Big and Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Ronon's wariness about staying on the planet, the team makes camp for the night.

After the events in the bar and the bouts of illness caused by the temple, the hike back to the Stargate was long and tense. As they entered the thick of the dark forest, though, they looked over their shoulders less and little by little began to let their guard down.

The moon was already high in the sky by the time they stopped. "All right, kids," Sheppard announced, "we make camp here tonight."

Teyla began preparing a fire with Rogers and Eva assisting as they could.

Ronon pulled Sheppard aside, careful to keep his voice low. "We should keep going. This place isn't safe."

"It's still another six hours back to the gate," Sheppard argued. "Maybe you and Teyla could make a trek like that in the middle of the night, but we've got some members of our group who can't. We won't stay the full night, just long enough to get some rest."

"Sheppard, I've got a bad feeling about that village," he persisted.

The colonel sighed. "Look, if someone had followed us out here, don't you think we would have noticed by now?"

Ronon looked to the darkened trees, half expecting some ruffian to choose this precise moment to make their presence known.

"We're in the clear, Ronon," Sheppard continued. "At this point, it would take someone from the settlement longer to reach us than the time it will take us to rest."

Ronon returned his eyes to Sheppard's. "We should at least post guards tonight."

Sheppard nodded in reluctant agreement. "You take first shift, I'll take second, and Teyla can take the morning watch."

Their dinner was quiet, a stark contrast to the way they had begun the day. They ate quickly and in almost complete silence, with nearly everyone retiring immediately after finishing their meals until only Ronon and Rogers were left seated around the fire.

"I'm taking first watch," Ronon said to her. "You don't uh…have to wait for me."

"Hm?" She tore her gaze away from the notepad in her hands and looked around as if only then noticing that everyone else had already left. "Oh, I'm not. I just don't think I can sleep yet. I can't stop thinking about what happened this afternoon."

Surely, she meant the poisoning attempt in the tavern. Or the discovery of the secret lab. Or the key and the cane. She was too much of a professional to be thinking about their near kiss on the floor of the temple...wasn't she?

They sat together for the next hour or so, and though neither of them said a word to the other, he was grateful for the company. Frankly, he was spent – he hadn't slept much the night before, after all – and having someone with him, someone to keep him accountable, helped him stay awake and alert. They both busied themselves with their own tasks, Ronon sharpening his knives and listening carefully to the woods around them, while Rogers occasionally clicked through the pictures on her camera, or consulted her tablet before jotting down short notes in her little book. After a while, there was a zip and a shake and he glanced up from his knives to see she had packed everything away. She stifled a quiet yawn, and he expected her to get up to go to sleep, but instead she stayed. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and fixated her gaze on the fire, entranced by the flickering flames. He let his eyes linger on her for perhaps a second or two longer than he should have until he returned his attention to his blades and sharpening stone.

A few more minutes passed. Then, out of the dark of the night, the distant beeping of a military-issue wristwatch signaled the end of his turn and the beginning of Sheppard's. Rogers shook her head, freeing herself from her fire-fueled trance, and let her eyes focus on Ronon before she stood and made her way to where Eva was already sleeping.

Ronon took a minute to pack up his knives, gave Sheppard a solid thump on the back and followed Rogers halfway across the campsite to a spot sheltered by a group of large boulders. Rogers was already halfway inside her sleeping bag and bent over Eva, smiling wistfully down at her. He watched from afar as Rogers reached out, presumably to brush a few strands of hair out of Eva's face, only to hesitate and then withdraw her hand.

He arrived at the edge of Rogers's sleeping bag, his own bag under his arm. "She asleep?"

She looked up at him and nodded. "Out like a light."

Eva let out a quiet snore.

"She's lucky she can sleep after everything she went through," he said as he began the process of unfurling his sleeping bag next to her. He knew only too well the kind of nightmares that likely plagued her.

"Kids are resilient," Rogers said quietly, once again staring at the girl.

The expression on her face – unmistakably the look a mother gives her child – made Ronon pause. He wondered what about Eva she was appreciating. The way she took after her? Or the way she took after him?

He started to unzip his sleeping bag like he had the night before until Rogers peered up at him.

"Hey…"

Ronon looked back.

"Will you actually trade spots with me?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "Why?"

Somewhat clumsily, Rogers scooted over in her sleeping bag to make room for him. "I'd just feel better with you next to her," she confessed. "In case anything happens."

All at once, an unexpected flood of tenderness toward Rogers flowed through him. His throat was suddenly too gummed up for him to say anything, so he merely nodded in agreement, and continued unzipping his sleeping bag.

"Oh," she breathed once she realized what he was doing. "It's a lot warmer tonight. You don't have to share with me; I'll be okay."

"Oh. Uh...good." He rezipped the bag, then placed it between Rogers and Eva, mindful to give each of them enough space. He settled into his bag and lay on his back, arm under his head as he stared at the stars.

Rogers lay down as well, also turning her gaze to the night sky. "The stars are different here," she commented after a few moments of silence.

"Than back home?"

"Well that too," she answered. "I meant different than on Atlantis."

He smiled in spite of himself. "That's what I meant. It doesn't feel like home to you yet?"

She sighed. "I think… home is wherever your family is."

He grunted.

"What?"

Despite the darkness and the fact that he could only discern the outline of the profile of her face, he could tell from the tone of her voiced that she was smiling now, too.

"I agree with you…for once," he teased.

She let out a short laugh. "Good night."

"Night, Rogers."

He lay awake looking up into the sky, wondering why his heart was racing.

* * *

Eva's snores, which had grown in frequency and volume, had been keeping him awake. Or at least, that's what he told himself every time his eyes wandered to the linguist's sleeping form. Truth be told, though, he found himself hoping the temperature would drop, wishing she would once again seek his warmth, imagining them finishing what they hadn't even started in the temple. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to indulge, if only momentarily, in the memory soon to turn fantasy; but the image he conjured every night before he fell asleep, burned into his retinas through routine, longing, and force of will, rose to the surface instead.

She knelt astride him, her hand brushing back loose blond curls to keep them from falling into her brown eyes, deepened almost to black with desire...desire for him. She laughed, then smiled down at him like he was the only man in the world. His hands encircled her hips, his fingers pressed into her soft and naked flesh, anchoring her body to his. Eviscerating guilt ripped through him and, as his eyes flashed open, she disappeared.

"Time is fleeting. Make your choice."

He turned onto his other side, his back to Rogers. He hardly knew the woman and needed to rest. But sleep still proved elusive. Just as he began entertaining the thought of relieving Sheppard of his watch – at least one of them should get some shuteye – the high-pitched whir of a Wraith dart whined overhead.

The muscles in his body froze and every last trace of warmth left his blood.

Eva's snores instantly ceased and Ronon could see the gleam of moonlight reflecting off her amber eyes, now wide open. Her gaze met his and he silently slid a P-90 in her direction. He drew his own weapon and switched it to kill. Rolling toward Rogers, he leaned over her and clapped his hand over her mouth. Her eyelids parted in panic and she bit his hand. He grimaced in pain but clamped his hand harder against her jaw, forcing the back of her head to the ground.

"The Wraith are here," he hissed.

He was shocked and a bit wounded to see some of the fear in her eyes disappear as she relaxed against his tight grip.

"Do you have your sidearm?"

She nodded.

"Don't use it unless you have to."

She nodded once more.

He removed his hand from her mouth and shook out the pain of her bite. "Stay here," he ordered, before staring pointedly at Eva. "_Both_ of you."


	31. Standoff at Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wraith come to the planet and find what they're looking for.

Eva glanced toward Emma in the dark, their eyes locking with both fear and understanding. She then shifted her eyes to the night sky and, through the small opening between the trees' leaves, watched as countless Wraith darts crisscrossed through the night sky, white conical beams glowing beneath them. Most of them flew northward, toward the planet's main settlement, but a few lingered directly overhead, circling like vultures above their encampment.

A dart's beam illuminated the woods to the east, the trees momentarily standing in stark black silhouette like shadow puppets against the backdrop of searing white light. Atlantis's first reconnaissance team leapt to their feet, all four weapons aimed toward the source, until another bright light flashed from the opposite direction, dividing their attention. The team stood back to back, Sheppard and Teyla as one flank, McKay and Ronon as another, as two squadrons of drones converged upon them.

"Fire at will!" Sheppard shouted to an immediate reply of heavy automatic weapons fire and red blasts from Ronon's gun. The barrage of metal bullets on Wraith armor sounded like nails falling into a metal bucket – futile, inconsequential, hollow.

Eva had flipped onto her stomach, P-90 aimed and ready, trying to get a better view of the firefight. Emma, still lying next to her, was doing the same with her small Beretta pistol. Though she couldn't see much, she was sure the team had managed a few kills - with impressive marksmen like Ronon and Sheppard, how could they not? But it didn't seem like enough. Over a dozen Wraith drones were descending on the small clearing, with still more emerging from the shadows of the trees.

Sheppard's sidearm emitted a foreboding click. He had run out of ammunition. Eva wondered why he had chosen his sidearm instead of something with more power. He had a P-90; why wasn't he using it? He was going to get stunned, they were going to capture him, they were going to feed on him. Why the hell didn't he have his P-90?

Bile rose in the back of her throat. It was because she had it. In her hands. It was Sheppard's weapon. He had loaned it to Emma earlier in the day, and she had kept it with her throughout the night. And Ronon had decided she needed it more than Sheppard did.

She tore her gaze from the firearm in question and returned it to the shootout. Stun blasts rained down upon them while Sheppard reloaded his pistol. Despite Teyla's best efforts to cover him, he wasn't quick enough and took a stunner blast straight to the chest. His body folded on itself and he fell, limp like a corpse, at Teyla's feet. She seized the collar of his TAC vest and dragged him away, all the while defending them both against the encroaching Wraith.

McKay and Ronon, some several yards apart, were faring slightly better. The Wraith's armor failed to protect them from the fatal energy blasts of the particle magnum, after all. Shot after shot, the red flares met their mark and the targets fell.

At first, the team had been outnumbered four to one. But with Ronon's expert aim and Teyla's persistence, it dropped to three to one. Then two to one. And just as it seemed like the tide was about to turn, another wave of darts passed overhead, depositing four more legions of drones into the clearing.

Eva heard a loud and panicked "Shit, shit, shit!" from McKay as the three standing members of the team drew closer to one another, back-to-back in a compact tripod of strength, standing guard over the unconscious form of their friend and leader.

"We need to go help," Eva whispered.

Emma shook her head. "No. Ronon told us to stay put."

"They're going to get killed," she hissed back. "They need us."

"No," Emma insisted.

"I can't just lie here and watch this," she protested, shifting her weight onto her elbows. "I have to go out there!"

Emma snatched her by the shoulder and yanked her back down. "Eva Michelle, you listen to me!"

The air hitched in Eva's chest and she found herself at a loss for words. Logically, she knew this Emma was just as much her mother as the one she knew, the one she loved from her own time…but to hear her use her name, her full name, complete with that familiar Texan drawl, made something in her heart stir.

Emma placed a cold hand on Eva's cheek. "I can't risk you getting hurt." Her eyes, wide and pleading, bore directly into Eva's as she spoke. She had seen this expression on her mother's face before – many times – but she had never been the recipient of it until now. It was the look she would give Eva's father whenever he would leave for a dangerous mission. Right after their farewell kiss, she would touch him on the cheek, look him in the eyes, and silently beg him to come home safe to their family. And he always did.

"I'm sorry," Eva whispered. Without another word, she got to her feet and sprinted to help the rest of the team, bullets flying with little to no accuracy toward their targets. She hoped that quantity more than quality might serve better in this fight.

Distracted by the new source of weapons fire, Ronon's concentration wavered for a split second as he laid eyes on Eva. His eyes widened first with surprise, then narrowed with anger. "Eva!" Focus divided, a stun blast hit him square in the stomach. He snarled, then faced the Wraith who had stunned him and landed a direct head shot.

It dropped like a dead fly.

Eva was shocked. People had always told her how strong her father was; she experienced a taste of it whenever she sparred with him, but she had never known of anyone who could sustain the full brunt of a Wraith stunner blast – especially one to the torso – and remain conscious. It hadn't even knocked the wind out of him.

Suspending her awe, she lowered her head and continued running toward the group, dodging stun blasts, and shooting any Wraith who got in her way as she went. But there were too many. An entire squadron turned on her, surrounded her, cornered her, like a drove of cattle betraying their herding dog. They closed farther in on her position. She fired again and again until, predictably, her clip ran out. Blood thundered in her ears as she realized she had nothing to reload with.

Dropping her P-90, she drew her knife and ducked to avoid two successive stun blasts. Hand-to-hand it was. If she could just hold them off long enough for Ronon, McKay, or Teyla to kill them, she would survive.

"Eva!" Ronon's voice was distant and strained.

One of the Wraith advanced upon her, aimed his weapon, but then hesitated. "This is the one," he announced to the others. "Take the rest to the ship!" Once again, he lifted his stunner to Eva's head, put his finger to the trigger...and collapsed to the ground.

Eva looked up to behold her savior, and to her surprise, saw that it was Emma. Before the other drones could locate the source of the lethal bullet, Emma took aim from behind and fired a single shot into the back of each of their heads. One after the other, they fell like dominoes.

"Holy shit," Eva breathed. "Thanks."

Emma tossed a full clip to her. "Reload!" she ordered.

Eva didn't need to be told twice. Hands shaking, she released the magazine and replaced the empty clip with the new one while Emma stood guard over her.

More were coming.

With her newly-loaded semi-automatic, Eva shot at the advancing enemy with next to no equanimity, bullets pinging off their armor and tearing holes in their exposed flesh. Emma, with only a pistol, could not afford such a luxury. Like a cowboy in a standoff at noon, she aimed with great precision and only fired when she her chances of a kill shot were high. The fact that the drones' weapons were non-lethal must have helped her composure, she thought. Eva, on the other hand, knew too well what the Wraith were capable of _after_ that non-lethal force was administered.

Emma discharged her last round into the neck of one of the beasts, just above its chest plate, when her pistol clicked with empty finality. She was out of ammunition and the Wraith nearest her knew it.

Faceless, it stalked toward the two of them, weapon raised. It made some inhuman sound to alert the others before turning its stunner onto Emma.

Without a thought, Eva stepped in front of her mother; but before her finger even depressed the trigger, she fell from two simultaneous stun blasts to the chest. The sound of someone calling out her name was the last thing she heard before the numbing darkness swallowed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! What do you think so far? How do you think they're going to get out of this bind?


	32. The Sire and the Dam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team find themselves in a prison cell on a Wraith Cruiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for unwanted touching of a female character.

Pins and needles. It was an all-too familiar sensation. That, combined with the cold solidity of the floor on which he lay, the humidity of the air he breathed, and the faint stench of rotting flesh, made him immediately recognize where he was. With a dull pounding in his head, he sat up slowly and in the instant before he opened his eyes, desperately hoped he was mistaken.

But there was no mistaking the low light, hovering mist, and organ-like sinew that imprisoned him. He was in a holding cell aboard a Wraith ship.

First, he felt for his weapon, only to discover it had been taken from him, along with several of his knives. Next, he scanned his surroundings for the others, all still unconscious, lying on the floor like dummies cast aside with no regard for their comfort or humanity. Sheppard lay on his side and looked rather like he was sleeping. Meanwhile, McKay was curled into the fetal position, a grimace sketched upon his face; unlike himself, the physicist must have gotten a good look at whichever ugly son of a bitch had stunned him. The two women, Rogers and Teyla, were lying one across the other like branches in a stack of kindling. Their position conjured an image, one of the fallout after the first Wraith siege on Sateda, of corpses piled high on top of each other while they awaited mass cremation. He shook his head and tried to rid himself of the memory.

Eva. Where was Eva?

He leapt to his feet and forced his head through the bars of their cell (if that's what the web-like maze of tissue could even be called) and studied the long and shadowy corridor. It looked like they were on a Cruiser; their hallways were narrower than those of a Hive, the prison cells smaller, the passageways less guarded.

But where had they taken Eva? The Wraith had kept the rest of the group together – an egregious oversight on their part, Ronon thought – why take only her?

Stirring noises from the interior of the cell made him turn around. It was Teyla, and she was trying, as delicately as possible, to push the mass that was Dr. Rogers off her torso. He rushed to Teyla's aid, rolling the limp weight of the unconscious linguist off the Athosian's small frame and against his own chest. Just as he began debating whether he should prop her against a wall, or maybe even against himself until she woke, her eyes sprung open. With a gasp, she writhed and wriggled in his grasp, wrenching herself away from him.

"Easy," he said into her ear, trying to keep his voice as low and calming as possible. "Easy. It's just me."

She stopped struggling and peered over her shoulder and into his face. In her eyes was that same fear, that same panic he had seen when he had awakened her on the planet below.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

There was a groan from the front of the cell. Ronon blinked defensively at the strands of Rogers's long hair that whipped him across the face and neck as she snapped her gaze toward the source. Sheppard was coming to.

"We're in a prison cell on a Wraith Cruiser," Ronon informed her.

She craned her neck to look at him again, and her eyes widened with alarm. "What?"

"We've been captured," he bluntly stated.

Rogers started groping at her own chest, forcing him to release his grip on her. She then raised herself to her knees and shoved both her hands into her pants pockets. What the hell was she doing?

"I need my inhaler," she rasped, her voice hardly even a whisper.

Ronon didn't know how to tell her that the Wraith had taken everything – guns, knives, TAC vests – and that included her medication.

From the edge of the cell, Sheppard stood up and extended a hand to McKay. "Try to stay calm, Rogers." He must not have heard the reason for her erratic behavior. "We'll get outta here. We always do."

No longer able to speak, the scathing glare that Rogers proceeded to give Sheppard made Ronon very grateful it wasn't intended for him. Sensing the young woman's distress, Teyla took Ronon's spot behind Rogers and helped her to sit up straight while he, for the second time, poked his head through the sinewy septum.

A drone, presumably on patrol, was passing by. "Hey!" he shouted as loudly as he possibly could. "You!"

Sufficiently intrigued by its prisoner's outburst, it stalked slowly toward their cell.

"You took her medication," Ronon said as he pointed back at Rogers, not wasting any time, "and she needs it now. So be a good dog, find your master, and bring us her TAC vest. It's the one with, with," he tried to remember what all she kept in her pockets, "with the camera, the notepad, and voice recorder in it."

The drone made no noise, said nothing, but tilted its head to the side.

"If you do not bring it to us, she may die," Teyla supplied.

As if on cue, Rogers's breath whistled in her lungs.

"One less for you to feed on," Ronon jeered.

The drone stared blankly at him, clearly weighing the options.

"Go," he snarled. "Now!"

The drone turned his back to the cell and disappeared. All they had to do now was wait. Wait and hope that it would come back, and that Rogers could make it that long.

* * *

He was sure that very little time had actually gone by. Probably only a matter of a few minutes. But with Rogers wheezing, struggling for air at the back of the cell, and Teyla comforting her as best as she could, those excruciating minutes felt like hours.

Never in his life, until this moment, had he been relieved to hear the approaching sound of Wraith footsteps. He stopped pacing, practically throwing himself at the cell barrier, as a Wraith commander and two drones arrived.

Ronon held out his hand. "The medication?" he growled.

There was a tense moment of silence punctuated only by Rogers's gasps for oxygen where he was unsure if they had even brought it at all. But, eventually, the commander nodded to one of his inferiors who then produced the requested TAC vest from behind his back and lifted it in the air. Were they not going to give it to them? Would they just dangle it there in front of them, a cruel reminder of how powerless they all were?

Ronon glanced back at Rogers, who was pointing, rather insistently, to her heart. He looked from her chest to her face until he understood, and returned his attention to the Wraith. "Top left pocket," he ordered.

The drone opened the pocket and the inhaler was roughly placed in Ronon's hand. He hurried over to Rogers, who took it immediately from him. She shook it vigorously, popped the cap off, and with a soft puffing sound, took a long breath of it. She closed her eyes, and let her head fall back against the wall behind her.

Ronon felt the breath in his own lungs flow a bit easier as he watched her get her relief. Some medical condition. He was surprised she was even cleared to go on off-world missions, suffering from a disease like that. Suddenly, he felt ashamed how he had treated her the day before, making light of her illness.

"I trust that will keep you quiet," the commander spoke, "for the time being."

"Until when, huh?" McKay snapped. "Until you decide to feed on us?"

The Wraith sneered. "Precisely."

Commander and drones alike turned to leave, until – much to Ronon's surprise – Rogers yelled after them.

"Where is she?" Her voice wavered, still hoarse from the assault on her lungs. Ronon looked to see, with some assistance from Teyla, she was now standing, the pallor of her face belying her sudden and fierce determination.

The commander spun on its heel and raised an eyebrow. "I save your life and this is what I get in return?" It waved a hand over the control panel and the cell barrier momentarily fell away. It stepped past the threshold and the web instantly resealed, locking the Wraith in the small space with them…or was it the other way around?

"Insolence?" The Wraith's telltale hiss echoed against the walls of the cell as it took a few strides closer to Rogers. "I've come to expect that from some of the humans I deal with, but you… I do not believe I have even had the pleasure of meeting you."

The Wraith made moves to close the gap between itself and Rogers, but Sheppard and Ronon immediately closed ranks, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of her, forming a solid wall between her and the creature.

The Wraith's lip curled in amusement. It hardly looked inconvenienced, much less intimidated. "Now you…" it said, eye-level with Ronon, "you, I remember." Its bemused expression quickly faded. "Stand aside."

"Like hell," Ronon growled.

"Shoot them," it ordered.

Two short energy blasts materialized from each of the drones' weapons. Sheppard collapsed at once while Ronon dropped to his knees. The Wraith pushed him over as it strode past.

Rogers took a step backward as the commander closed in on her. Her chest was rising and falling as rapidly as a hummingbird's, but she kept her head held high and her jaw clenched tight.

"I can only assume you're referring to my little runner," it said in response to her earlier question.

"Where have you taken her? What have you done to her?" she asked.

What Ronon had said to her the night before still held true, she was certainly brave. How much of that bravery could be attributed to ignorance stemming from inexperience, he didn't know.

"Why do you care so much for the girl?" the Wraith inquired. "You're almost a girl, yourself."

In an effort to conceal the truth, Rogers pressed her lips together, but her eyes, which darted over to where Ronon lay, betrayed her.

The Wraith followed her line of sight. "Ah," it breathed as it took sight of him. "Of course. The sire…" he looked back at Rogers, "and the dam." It took a step backward, cocked its head and ran an appraising eye over her body, top to bottom. Its gaze met Ronon's again. "She is a fine specimen of her sex, is she not?"

Anger broiled in his chest. Before he could muster any semblance of control over it, he pushed himself to his feet and lunged.

But the Wraith was too fast. It eliminated the space between itself and Rogers once more, and brought its feeding hand to her chest. "Take one step closer and I will feast upon her," it threatened.

Ronon froze, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

The Wraith moved its head from side to side like a cobra's as it examined her features. "Clear skin," it commented. "Usually a strong signal of high levels of estrogen." It flexed the fingers of its left hand and took a lock of her dark red hair between them. "A lustrous shine – indicates good nourishment and overall health." It let out a quiet breath of air in what might have been an attempt at laughter. "I would check her teeth, but I suspect she bites."

Ronon tensed his hand, still sore from when she had done exactly that. He always felt like the Wraith could read minds and this situation was proving no exception.

The Wraith's fingers slid down the side of Rogers's neck and he saw her shudder. She closed her eyes, as though blocking out the image would block out reality. Ronon hated this; he wished he could do the same, but something, some sense of duty that he suspected was not exclusively rooted in his Satedan sense of honor made him keep watch over her.

The beast's hand slipped farther down her body, stopping to cup one of her breasts. It pressed and prodded, not with lust, but almost with clinical observation.

Rogers opened her eyes and stared the Wraith straight in the eyes. "Let go of me," she growled.

It raised its brow at her boldness, but did not remove either of its hands from her body. "Slightly smaller than average," it assessed, "but I expect that would change with gravidity." It continued to touch her, tracing the concavity of her narrow waist before stopping at the swell of her hips.

Ronon's muscles quivered with fury. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that her life depended on him staying still and not acting.

"Wide hips," it appraised. "She obviously has the capacity to bear the young of a sire as large as yourself." He glanced back at Ronon. "Or even two offspring of an average-sized male." Finally, it leaned close to her, like a lover, and breathed in the scent of her neck.

Rogers squeezed her eyes shut and flinched, angling her face away from the Wraith's.

Ronon had a knife in his gauntlet. If he could just reach for it…

"She's in heat," it announced as it drew back. "And will be for a few more days." It looked over its shoulder at Ronon and Sheppard, who still lay on the floor. "No wonder you two are falling over yourselves for her."

"Where's Eva?" Rogers whispered.

"Ah, yes. My little runner. I have a special plan for her." It looked Rogers up and down one last time. "It is truly a pity that you carry that horrid illness. Otherwise, I would have a special plan for you, too."

Responding to a flourish of the commander's feeding hand, one of the drones on the other side activated the control panel, allowing the Wraith to exit their cell. Without another word, it left.

Ronon turned to Rogers and, all at once, was filled with the need to take her in his arms and hold her against his chest, to erase the Wraith's filthy, prying touch and replace it with his own. But something made him hesitate and soon it was Teyla who did this instead. Rogers released a sigh of relief and, eyes closed, rested her forehead on the other woman's shoulder. Ronon gave them their space, realizing that at this moment, Teyla's feminine touch would be infinitely more restorative than his own.

He turned his thoughts to Eva and worried about what the Wraith's "special plan" for her might entail.


	33. Vita somnio est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva comes across a familiar face on the Wraith Cruiser.

Eva awoke with a shiver. Wherever she was, it was freezing. In an instinctual attempt to conserve her heat, she tried to pull her legs to her chest and wrap her arms around herself, but discovered she was bound. Leather straps had been cinched tightly around her ankles, her wrists, even her neck.

No. Not again. This couldn't be happening again.

Her eyes flashed open and her heart hammered in her chest as reality set in. Trying to slow her breathing, she took stock of what she already knew. Start with the obvious: she was being held captive aboard a Wraith ship. And she had gotten there because…because the Wraith had come to the planet the team was exploring to…to cull it?

She closed her eyes tightly and tried to push through the throbbing ache in her head to remember. _"I've got the girl!"_ one of the Wraith had shouted.

She opened her eyes again. They hadn't come to the planet only to cull it. They had come for her. They were looking for her. And if they were looking for her then that meant she likely wasn't aboard any run-of-the-mill Wraith Cruiser. No, this had to be the same Wraith Cruiser that had captured her nearly three months earlier…or was it twenty years later?

Timeline aside, what mattered was now. And right now, she was bound, helpless, and alone. She fought to keep the panic at bay, but it soon engulfed her. She started to rock and thrash against her restraints, stopping only at the sound of a familiar voice that, the instant she heard it, chilled her to the bone.

"What is it now?"

"The prisoners have made a request, Commander."

Prisoners? If there were prisoners, then she wasn't alone. Still bound, still helpless, but at least not alone.

"A request?" Though she couldn't quite see it, she could hear the look of derision on the Commander's face. "Nonsense. They are in no position to make demands."

"One of the females requires medication. They claim she will die without it."

There was a pause in the conversation as the Commander evidently debated the choices. "She will die?" it confirmed, voice low.

"They seem to think so, Commander."

"I will be the one who determines how and when they die," it snarled. With a wave of its long cloak, the Commander and its underling hurried through the doors and out of the laboratory.

The Wraith now gone, Eva dared to get a better look at the laboratory and, sitting up as far as her leather restraints would permit, she took in the familiar surroundings. Once again, she found herself strapped tightly to the examination table, the same one where she had lain facedown, defenseless, and sobbing as the Wraith Commander tore open the skin on her back and implanted its tracker into her. The same set of surgical tools glinted menacingly in the low light – small instruments of torture rather than of healing – just shy of arm's length. Odd bits of Wraith and Ancient paraphernalia littered the room, on the counters, on the walls, but concentrated most densely on the table in the far corner. And just like last time, in that dark corner stood the tall, brown-haired man whom she now knew to be called Janus.

Her movement must have attracted his attention, for he turned around from whatever device he was tinkering with, his ice-blue eyes piercing through the dim and fog. He set the device down. "Ah," he breathed as he approached the examination table. The red pendant hanging from his neck glimmered like freshly spilled blood as it swung to and fro, keeping time with his slow gait. "You're awake."

"Kinda wish I wasn't," she growled.

If only this were another one of her nightmares.

He smiled wryly at her until, finally, he replied, "_Vita somnio est_."

Her eyes widened. She knew that phrase. Why did she know that phrase? She never got anything above mediocre grades in her Ancient classes.

_"Boat!" She pointed a tiny, pudgy finger over the railing of the balcony toward the floating vessel in the distance._

_"Sugar, that's a jumper," her mother corrected, tightening her grip around Eva's middle as she planted her firmly and safely back into her lap. "Can you say 'jumper?'"_

_"No... boat!" she insisted._

_Her father chuckled quietly at her stubbornness._

_"All right, fine. It's a boat," her mother conceded as she bent her head close to her daughter's, her long red hair cascading down and tickling Eva's shoulders. She took Eva's arms into her hands and began moving them in circles. "_Duc, duc, remas duc_," she sang, "_paxide in flumina…_"_

_Eva eagerly sang along, pronouncing the foreign words as best as she could._ "Felictra, felictra, felictra, felictra, vita somnio est_…_"

_"Good girl," her mother laughed, kissing her on the cheek._

_"Emma, does she even know what she's saying?" Eva looked to her father who, despite his skepticism, couldn't hide the smile burgeoning across his face._

_"Of course she does," her mother replied, smoothing the bits of Eva's hair that the sea breeze had swept into her face out of her eyes._

_"Come here, pup," her father said with a soft grunt as he shifted her from her mother's lap to his own. "You tell me what she's saying."_

_Her mother straightened her back and began singing again, as tone-deaf as ever, nodding when it was Eva's turn to join in the round._

"Felictra, felictra, felictra, felictra…"

_"Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…"_

"Vita somnio est_._"

_"Life is but a dream."_

Eva sat up with such force, the strap around her neck crushed her windpipe. "What have you done with my team?" she rasped. "With...with my mom and dad?"

"Your father _and_ mother?" Janus replied with surprise. "I knew the wild man was your father, but your mother is here, too?" His eyebrows peaked with curiosity. "Which one is she?"

Eva clenched her jaw and looked away.

The man drew closer and inspected her face at close range. "The one with red hair. Yes, I can see it now. In the nose and the mouth, the shape of the face... "

"Let them go," she snarled. "It's _me_ the Wraith want. They have nothing to do with this. Do whatever you want with me, but let them go."

He pulled away. "I," he sighed, "unfortunately am not in charge of that sort of decision."

"No, that would be your master, wouldn't it?" Eva snapped.

He turned his back to her and returned to his research corner. "Yes. That burden falls upon him."

Eva lay flat against the table and stared at the ceiling. The other prisoners had to be the rest of the team. They must have failed to hold their position down on the planet. And the woman who needed the medication, the woman who could be dying…that was likely Emma. The thought of her mother suffering from an asthma attack in a cold, dank prison cell made her ribs ache and her eyes sting.

"How humiliating," she whispered.

"Hm," Janus hummed in reply.

"How humiliating it must be for you," she pressed on, her voice gaining strength. "One of the great Ancestors, one of the gate builders, now the dancing monkey for the very race your people vowed to destroy."

The soft beeps and clicks from across the room ceased. She could tell he had stopped moving.

"I mean," she continued, "practically your entire reason for being was to defeat the foe you had awakened. Defeat the Wraith and bring peace and safety back to the worlds under Lantean protection. And now look at you..."

Janus turned around again, slowly walking in her direction.

"If only the Council could see what you've become."

"The Lantean Council is long defunct," he countered.

"If they were ashamed of you back then, imagine what they would say about you now..." she turned her head to meet his gaze, "Janus."

His eyes widened and he drew his head back. "How do you know my name? No one has uttered that name in eons."

"At least you're not so far gone that you can't remember it," Eva retorted. "Sure, your people, your duty, your integrity...that's easy enough to forget. But it's pretty damn hard to forget your own name."

Suddenly he was right at her side, eyes bulging. "You have no idea –"

"I can imagine," she interrupted. "Hundreds of years in a stasis pod, endless feedings... constantly bringing you to the edge of death only to flood you once more with the life they stole. I've heard of it. I've heard what it can do to a person." She took a quiet breath. "I just thought one of the Ancestors would have been more resilient…"

He stared at her and she stared back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish there was something we could do for you."

He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment. "You are Lantean."

Eva shrugged. "Technically, no."

"Your genetics would indicate otherwise."

"Yeah, well...that's a long story," she muttered. "I'm not Lantean, but I do live in the city of the Ancestors. We all do – all of the people captured along with me."

"Then it survived," he murmured.

Eva nodded. "Yes, the city survived. All thanks to your failsafe mechanism."

"My research..."

"It's all there, Janus." She hoped the repetition of his name might help to restore his humanity.

"I always assumed...that it had been lost that – that the city either lay at the bottom of the ocean or lay in ruins."

Eva shook her head. "The Wraith don't tell you much, do they?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "My master tells me what he deems necessary."

"Must be fun," she said, egging him on. "For a guy like you, so hungry for knowledge, to only be fed crumbs of the actual truth, to have the whole truth always concealed from you. Shit, you don't even have windows in here," she laughed.

Janus looked to the floor.

"We'd take you back, you know."

He returned his gaze to her.

"Janus, we'd take you back home if we could."

She could almost see his pulse racing under the collar of his cloak. "You, too, are far from home," he said.

"Yes..." she nodded, "yes, I am."

He rested his palms upon the examination table and looked down at her for a long time until, after a period of silence, he reached to the restraint around her neck and unbuckled it. He then moved to her wrists, releasing first the right one, then the left. Eva sprung up straight and began undoing the restraints at her ankles. She hopped off the table and grabbed two of the scalpels, weaving them quickly into her long braids for later use.

"Go," Janus whispered, taking a few steps backward.

"What?" Eva exclaimed. "That wasn't the deal. The deal was, you release me and I take you back home. I can't just leave you here. If the Commander finds out that you let me go, he could kill you."

"Sentimental already, are we?" he asked with a rueful smirk.

"Not a bit," Eva sneered. "But if you get killed, then I don't think I stand any chance of making it back home to my real family."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then our deal would be one that solely benefits you?"

"Come with me," she insisted. "Help me find my way out of here, help me release the team I came with, and we'll take you back home...to Lantea."

"Lantea," he repeated, his voice hardly audible.

"Please," she begged. "Wouldn't it be worth it just to hear the ocean one more time?"

Something tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening his beady eyes.

"Wake up, Janus," she whispered. "_Vita non somnio est_."

He turned away from her and for a moment, she thought she had failed.

"Janus! Please."

He strode over to his work space, grabbed a few items and shoved them into his pockets, before returning to her side. "Your Lantean needs work," he said with a sly smile.

* * *

Traveling through the corridors of the Cruiser in Janus' company was a strange sensation. Had she been alone, she would have tread lightly, hung in the shadows or hovered close to the walls to avoid detection; but such shady behavior on the Ancient's part would have arisen suspicion and so, instead, they strode confidently through the halls, Eva in front and Janus behind, her wrists trapped between his clammy hands as she played the part of prisoner.

She surely would have gotten lost – all the passages looked the same – but Janus clearly knew the ship like the back of his hand. Perhaps that put her at a disadvantage, she thought. Maybe he was trying to get her turned around, disoriented, before betraying her and subjecting her to some form of torture worse than what he and the Commander had originally planned.

They rounded a corner and, with a hitch in her breath, found themselves face-to-face with a pair of drones on patrol. The Wraith halted in their tracks and drew their weapons. Before Eva could react, she felt one of Janus' hands clamp tighter around her wrist while the other brought a Wraith stunner to her temple.

"Come, girl," Janus snarled in her ear, shoving the barrel of the stunner harder against the side of her head. "The Commander is expecting you."

The drones, being the supremely intelligent and free-thinking creatures they were, lowered their weapons and allowed them to pass.

"Stop squirming, else I shall shoot you here and now and let these two drag your body the rest of the way there." Janus gave her a rough shove forward and she tripped a bit on her own feet.

Fully satisfied with this bit of theatrics, the drones nodded their understanding to Janus and continued on their patrol. As soon as they were out of sight, Janus loosened his hold on Eva and dropped his stunner to the side.

"Apologies," he said quietly. "Had to make it look convincing. You understand, I'm sure."

Eva could do nothing but swallow in reply. "We're still headed to the cell, aren't we?" she asked, hoping that she didn't sound too desperate.

Before Janus could offer a response, her question was answered by the appearance of a flying knife, tumbling end over end through the air, missing the tip of her nose by mere inches. It landed in the wall opposite from where it had come and stuck straight out, still wobbling from the force of the throw.

"Little to the left, buddy," Sheppard's voice said.

"You wanna give it a try?" Ronon growled back.

Janus _had_ kept his end of the bargain. Her heart soared as she ran ahead and toward the prison cell, relieved to see that everyone was still alive and well inside it.

"Eva!" Emma exclaimed, getting to her feet from where she and Teyla were sitting next to each other. "Oh, thank God you're alive." She reached through the cell barrier and laid her hand on Eva's cheek.

"Think you can help get us outta here, kid?" Sheppard asked.

Eva nodded eagerly and as soon as she did, they all began talking at once. She caught things like "control pad," "automatic doors," "knife," but couldn't make sense of their rambling. Almost immediately, though, they fell silent. Eva looked over her shoulder to see that Janus had appeared behind her.

"You make a new friend, there, Eva?" Sheppard asked.

"This is Janus," Eva explained.

"Janus?" Teyla echoed.

"As in _the_ Janus?" Emma asked. "Janus the Ancient?" She eyed him up and down, looking almost disappointed at her unexpected meeting with supposed greatness.

"He's gonna help us get out of here," Eva said.

"Oh, he is now, is he?" McKay asked with derision. "Just like that, he's gonna spring us out of here? From the goodness of his Ancient heart? What's in it for him, huh?"

"I told him we would take him home with us," Eva revealed.

"You told him what?" Sheppard hissed. "Eva, he's not some kitten you found in an alley! We can't just take him home with us! He's been in the hands of the enemy for-for who knows how long. How are we supposed to trust him?"

"I do not expect you to trust me," Janus said. "I merely ask that you take me away from this living hell." With that, he strolled over to the control panel, entered a code, and the cell door fell away.

The prisoners inside exited immediately, Sheppard taking point and heading fearlessly down a corridor. "All right gang, same plan we discussed. We gotta find our way to the fighter bay, see if we can hijack a dart, and get the hell out of here."

"The fighter bay is this way," Janus said calmly, nodding in the opposite direction.

Sheppard doubled back and stood eye-to-eye with Janus. "You can't possibly expect me to take what you say at face value."

Janus ignored Sheppard's accusation and carried on. "But your plan has its flaws. Nearly all of our darts have been deployed," he explained. "Very few have returned from the culling."

"All I need is one," Sheppard said.

"I suppose, yes. But you will likely be discovered before you successfully find one. If there were only one or two of you, perhaps you could accomplish such a task. But there are seven of us."

"Really?" Sheppard retorted. "Because I only count six."

"John, if he wanted us to be found, we would already have been found by now," Teyla reasoned. "Whether we take him back home or not is a decision we can make later. He obviously wishes to leave this place as much as we do, and at this point, that is all that truly matters."

Sheppard stared at Janus for a moment, as though trying to read the Ancient's mind. "Take us to the fighter bay."

"You will require your weapons first, will you not?" Janus asked.

Sheppard and Ronon exchanged a glance and Eva could almost hear their thoughts. Aside from the particle magnum, the rest of the weapons and supplies could easily be replaced. But if they were to meet resistance, they would fare better if they were armed.

Sheppard looked back at Janus. "Lead the way," he agreed, if a bit reluctantly.

"One last thing."

Janus reached into the pocket of his cloak but within the space of a breath, Ronon lunged at him, the sharp tip of his dagger pressing into the paper-thin skin that stretched over the man's jugular vein.

"Don't move," he warned.

Janus released a quiet laugh. "It is not a weapon, I assure you."

Ronon looked to Sheppard for an order and, after a moment's hesitation, the colonel nodded. He sheathed his dagger and took a step back, still watching Janus like a hawk.

Janus extracted the device and handed it to McKay.

"What is this?" McKay asked.

"Why don't you activate it and see?"

"No, no, no. I'm not falling for your 'pull my finger' bit," McKay scoffed. "Why don't you tell me what it does before I inadvertently blow us to smithereens all because you told me to push a button?"

The Ancient's lip curled as he took the device back into his own hand. "Personal cloaking device," he explained with a press of the button.

With a gasp that Eva hadn't realized she had been the one to release, Janus disappeared. Not a second later, he came back into view. He gave the device back to McKay who suddenly looked equal parts stunned and excited.

"Slide the dial to increase its breadth of field," Janus said, before taking off down a long hallway. He stopped after just a few paces. "Eva, it's best if you continue to accompany me."

Eva looked back at the rest of the team, awaiting some kind of permission. It was eventually Sheppard who, in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, gave it to her. With a quick click of the cloaking device, the rest of the team dissolved into the thin air while she trotted to catch up with their new and unlikely ally.


	34. Sitting Ducks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of a newly-freed Janus, the team try to find their way to the Cruiser's fighter bay and escape.

He glanced over his shoulder for what had to have been the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. This must be how a sitting duck felt, he thought as he reflected upon the terrestrial turn of phrase; flightless, exposed on all sides, obliviously waiting for the inevitable bullet.

Rogers followed his gaze before voicing his unspoken thoughts, as though she were privy to them. "I don't like this," she whispered from his side. "It feels like we're right out in the open."

It was all too eerie, roaming the deserted corridors of the ship beneath the protection of Janus' cloak. This particular cloaking technology was theoretically no different than that of the Puddle Jumpers' or the city's; the forcefield did not obscure their surroundings as it obscured them. He could still see everything around them, could still see McKay, Teyla, and Sheppard, supposedly invisible in front of him, could still see Rogers's shock of red hair, blazing crimson like a hot coal under the blaring white light from above, as he looked down at her. The chief difference, however, was that the Puddle Jumpers and the city both had walls – and thick ones, too – to at least give those inside the illusion of shelter and protection. Ronon was discovering that he found that sort of illusion vastly more reassuring than the one currently concealing him and the others. Unarmed and unconvinced, he couldn't help but feel uneasy, and that they had yet to come across a single Wraith sentry only made that uneasiness grow. The worst part of battle, after all, was the anticipation of it beforehand.

He tried to remind himself that the absence of guards was likely attributed to the fact that Cruisers, luckily for them, were generally less heavily guarded than Hives, as well as to the assumption that a great number of drones were probably still culling the planet below. Nonetheless, his grip on the small dagger in his right hand tightened. He refused to be caught off guard.

A long, deep exhale from Rogers's direction drew his attention toward her again. Still at his side, she had brought a hand to her chest, and was taking slow, measured breaths. The portion of the asthma attack she had endured without her medication had clearly left some lingering side effects as, undoubtedly, had her unsavory encounter with the Wraith Commander. Ronon reached into his wrist guard, unsheathed another one of his many hidden knives, and extended it to her.

"Here," he whispered.

She looked up at him with surprise, but took the knife anyway.

"You'll feel better if you have something to defend yourself with, even if it is small."

At least, he hoped she would. She was a damn good shot with a pistol, but by her own appraisal, was "no good at hand-to-hand combat." Hopefully, they wouldn't need to find out if that was true.

"Thank you."

"Aim for the neck. It's where their armor is we—"

"Will you two pipe down?" McKay hissed from the center of their flock. "As far as I can surmise, this thing only conceals the visual, not the auditory and you two are chattering like a couple of magpies back there."

"Sh!" This time the rebuke came from Sheppard; he had come to a halt, fist in the air.

"Oh, sure hush me but not the pretty girl."

"Shut up, McKay!"

Ronon looked up ahead to locate the reason for their standstill: about twenty feet ahead, armed with stunners, were three drones standing guard in front of a door. Janus was already deep in discussion with them – at least, as deep a discussion as one could be with creatures incapable of speech – Eva's loosely-bound wrists gripped firmly in his hands.

"I understand the Commander did not communicate my presence," Janus was saying, "but our Master is very busy, isn't he? Now, keep watch over our prisoner while I retrieve the item in question. I shall take but a moment."

The first Wraith leaned its stunner against the wall so it could take Eva's wrists from Janus' hands into its own. The second drone entered a code into the wall keypad to unlock the door through which the Ancient quickly disappeared, all while the third stayed on the lookout, stunner poised to shoot anyone who might intrude. As soon as the door closed, the second Wraith turned toward Eva who remained uncharacteristically docile in the other's grasp.

Even from twenty feet away, Ronon could sense her restraint, could feel her struggle to rein in her hatred and her fear. The Wraith stepped closer. She said nothing, but squared her shoulders against its advance and raised her chin into the air, nostrils flared while a scowl festered upon her lips. Standing tall, ferocious, and proud, there could be no question as to the girl's paternity. Never before had he thought that she looked more like him than in that moment. As an odd sensation of pride and concern mingled within him, he watched as the drone leaned in and sniffed at her, perhaps also sensing, even relishing that same defiance that Ronon harbored within his own bones.

There was a sharp, raspy intake of breath from Rogers next to him as she, too, watched, hand clapped over her mouth to stifle any sounds of an asthmatic aftershock the scene in front of them might provoke.

Mission be damned, weapons be damned, Janus be damned, Ronon wanted nothing more than for Eva to strike and defend herself. He knew the same thoughts were crossing her mind, knew she was debating the weight of the mission against her own personal dignity, and was ultimately crestfallen when saw her settle on compliance. Putting forth no display of resistance, she let the drone smell and prod her, she even let it lift the silver necklace from her throat and inspect it. She hardly flinched until, inevitably, the drone brought its feeding hand to her chest.

It wouldn't, Ronon thought. The Commander surely wanted her alive and unharmed for its own purposes. This drone would have to either be incredibly stupid to defy its master's orders by feeding on her before the Commander was finished with her...or incredibly hungry. Either way, he didn't want to wait and find out.

"The hell with this," he muttered.

They had to do something, _he_ had to do something before the Wraith decided to take things any further. Plans and ideas, each more absurd than the last, raced through his head until they were all at once obliterated by the static heat of a stun blast. He looked from the scorch marks on the floor, just shy of his leg, over to its source to see that the Wraith on lookout had fired almost precisely at their allegedly invisible position. It charged toward them, its companion pausing in its taunting of Eva to follow. Several more stun blasts soared their way, all narrowly missing them on either side.

"Well, shit." Sheppard's voice wafted backward as he ducked out of the cloak's protection to meet the drones head on, Ronon and Teyla immediately behind him.

The Wraith momentarily halted in their advance, clearly unsettled by the team's almost paranormal appearance, but quickly regained their battle sense upon realizing the three humans were hurtling toward them, with no thought of quarter or mercy. All of a sudden, there were two quick flashes of light that came from the direction of the armory and before either of the drones could defend themselves, they had fallen to their knees. Confused, Ronon looked back to see the first Wraith similarly incapacitated, slumped against the wall and unconscious, the cloth Janus had pretended to bind Eva's wrists with still limp in its hand. Next to it stood Eva, holding its massive, abandoned weapon as best as one of her small stature could, still firing a volley of blasts at the backs of the remaining drones. Though their regenerative physiology made them resistant to the first few shots, eventually the cumulative potency of the recurring blasts proved too much, and the drones crumpled the rest of the way to the floor before Sheppard, Teyla, or Ronon could even lay a finger on them.

Sheppard kicked one in the gut as they approached. "Doesn't feel nice, does it?"

The armory door slid open and Janus emerged. He took one look at the fallout and his face contorted into a grimace. "You fools!" he spat as he ripped the stunner from Eva's grasp. "We were supposed to escape undetected. Now you've gone and made a mess that will only slow us down!"

"They could see us!" Sheppard said, the condemnation of Janus' invention evident from the tone of his voice.

"Impossible!" Janus said, indignant.

"What good is your device if –"

"They could see you because your legs were sticking out the sides," Eva quickly said. "Teyla's and yours and Ronon's."

Sheppard, looking sheepish, didn't have a reply to this. They had been seen due to human error, plain and simple.

"Now get back under the cloak before more see you. And increase the breadth of the field unless you wish to be detected again," Janus barked as he turned his back to them. "Hide the bodies," he ordered to Eva.

Finding their way back under the cloak was easier said than done.

"McKay?" Sheppard ventured. "Where are you?"

"Over here," a voice quietly called from some ten feet away.

Cautiously, like when walking in the dark, they made their way to the voice. First Teyla disappeared, then Sheppard, and before Ronon went too far, a hand intercepted his own to drag him into the fold. Within a split second, Rogers materialized in front of him, her cold fingers brushing the palm of his hand.

"You okay?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.

"Yeah. Fine." He glanced down at their hands and gave hers a reassuring squeeze before letting go. "You?"

She nodded, but refrained from actually saying anything.

Ronon peered curiously at her through narrowed eyes, unconvinced. Her face was ghostly pale - almost blue - and he could hear a faint whistling sound every time she exhaled. "Rogers, you sure –"

"Expand it, Rodney," Sheppard ordered, cutting off Ronon's sentence.

McKay fumbled with the device in his hands as Sheppard glared accusatorily back at him. "It's up as high as it goes, I swear," he argued. "We're pushing its limits. I highly doubt this was designed to conceal five full-grown adults."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" He thrust the device toward Sheppard. "Here, you wanna take a look at it? Make sure I did it right? Eh, Mensa?"

"All right, all right. I'll take your word for it, Rodney." Sheppard cleared his throat. "Looks like we gotta huddle up, everybody. Please keep your hands, arms, feet, legs and other appendages inside the personal cloaking device at all times."

Upon that order, Sheppard and Teyla drew closer to one another while McKay, still in the middle, took a few steps forward to close the gap between them. Ronon did the same with Rogers still at his side. Following Sheppard and Teyla's example, she pressed herself closer to him, even going so far as to wrap her arm around his lower back, gripping to him much tighter than he would have anticipated. He felt her fingers twist themselves into the fabric of his shirt, balling it up in her fist, clutching to him as though he were the only thing keeping her standing. And there he found the honest answer to his question. She wasn't okay. She was weak, she was upset, and judging by the way her shoulders involuntarily jerked upward every time she inhaled, still struggling to breathe. Not only in the name of closeness for the sake of invisibility, did he put his arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the armory. Seven years of survival without the touch of another human being had made him recognize its power; he held her firmly to his side, hoping that some of his own strength might flow through him and into her.

While Eva dragged the bodies of the Wraith out of sight, Janus passed back their weapons and TAC vests. Ronon's particle magnum was the first weapon to be returned and since it didn't require any sort of reload, he was the first one ready to go. He waited anxiously while everyone else shrugged back into their vests, refastened their holsters, and reloaded their firearms with what little ammunition they had. Rogers was busy buckling the thigh straps of her holster when her TAC vest, the last of all the supplies, was shoved toward them. Ronon intercepted it and held onto it for her until her holster was secure. Straightening up, she turned to him and extended her hand to take the vest, but rather than hand it back, he was struck by the sudden impulse to hold it open for her. Her eyes darted from the vest between them up to his own and, upon comprehension of the gesture, he could have sworn he saw the smallest bit of color return to her ashen face. She turned her back to him and he helped her, one arm at a time, into the vest, lifting and adjusting until it lay properly against her shoulders. She slipped a hand between her hair and neck to free the trapped strands from underneath the collar, sending her scent up to him, stirring his already heightened senses. This was one hell of a time to get distracted, he thought with a sort of detached amusement, as their arms found their way around each other once more.

Maybe it was the comfort of being armed, maybe it was the knowledge that the cloak did, in fact, work as it was supposed to, or maybe it was the near promise of flight – whatever it was, Ronon felt his earlier unease begin to melt away with every step they took toward the fighter bay. As they rounded a particularly tight corner, Rogers's hip grazed his leg. She looked at him in silent apology and he looked back at her in silent forgiveness. Maybe it was something else.


	35. Cocytus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team try to make their escape but encounter some complications.

Not a week before Eva had been taken by the Wraith, before all of this mess had started, it was the end of term at school. And just like any regular student, the end of term meant taking finals. Thinking back, she had probably failed her trigonometry final, likely gotten Cs in history, Ancient, and physics, but had hopefully done well on her final art project…not that any of it mattered now. Somewhat obtusely, in this particular moment with the doors to the fighter bay opening, she thought of her English final. It was the last one she needed to take and she distinctly remembered sitting in class, staring out the window at the ocean in a braindead stupor, waiting for the teacher to pass out the final essay topic. When the paper landed it front of her, she was pleasantly surprised to see that the question was about one of the only books she had actually read that year: Dante's _Inferno_.

_And although the deeply freezing cold_

_Had taken all sensation from my face_

_And left it feeling like a hard dead callus,_

_I now thought that I felt a breath of wind_

_And asked, 'My master, who has stirred this breeze?_

_Are not all vapors snuffed out here below?'_

The bit of the passage Eva could remember more than accurately described the Wraith fighter bay. A chill, which she only half blamed on the significant drop in temperature, traveled down her spine as the door closed and the bay consumed them. Not only was it cold, it was loud, too, as though harsh gales of wind were swirling together in a trapped vortex. As they ventured farther, she planted her feet harder with every step, expecting to be whipped about by the storm, yet the air stirred not a single hair on her head.

From under the protection of the personal cloak where she now walked along with the others, Eva chanced a glimpse upward. The bay itself was an impossibly tall, dome-shaped structure, which housed multiple runways and walkways, all stacked on top of one another in concentric circular levels, making it difficult to shake off the Dantean imagery. They might as well be in Cocytus itself – the deepest circle of the underworld, the last hellscape Dante would encounter before his ascent into Purgatory, the realm of traitors. She looked up ahead at Janus, whose back was turned to them, and her stomach twisted into a knot. Rather quickly, she had come to accept him as their Virgil, their guide…what if she was wrong?

"Ow! Will you watch it?" McKay whispered harshly to her as she stepped on his foot.

It was significantly darker in the bay than in the corridors of the ship and in such close quarters, they kept bumping into one another. The only source of light were the dots of dark red that marked each level, flanking the runways and illuminating various paths toward pockets clustered in the walls. She was immediately reminded, for obvious reason, of the cells of a beehive. With a leaping, nauseating sensation in her stomach, Eva made the mistake of looking down. Sheer blackness peppered with little red lights; it had to be at least a thirty-story fall. Mindful of the darkness and the drop, the group watched their step as they tried to stay within the confines of the cloak while also keeping pace with Janus who deftly wound his way through the place like an eel through seaweed.

An ear-splitting squeal raised the hair on Eva's neck and she watched as a dart, returning to the bay to dock from the culling, pierced through the veil that shielded them from outer space, landed two levels above them, and found its way into its own pocket in the wall.

She couldn't help but think that there were human beings inside that dart – so many, in fact, that the hold had probably been filled to maximum with dematerialized cargo, forcing an early return. Within the next few minutes, some fifty people would either be fed upon or forced into cocoons, waiting and wasting away until it was their turn. She wondered if any of the villagers they had spoken to were in that cargo hold.

Why had the Wraith even come to that planet? They had left that world alone for nearly thirty years. Had her presence really been significant enough to warrant a trip across the galaxy to find her? Enough to warrant a culling? And if so...how had they found out she was there? Her tracker was gone. She knew it had left no residual effects; if it had, they would have come for her weeks ago back on Atlantis. Was this all somehow her fault?

There was something the old woman in the tavern had said that haunted her then, and it haunted her now. "I believe there are other things," she had said, "other forces at work, that have kept the Wraith away." Maybe those other forces not only had the power to keep the Wraith away, but had the power to call them back, too.

"Here it is." Janus' voice separated her from her thoughts. He had led them into a far, somewhat secluded corner of the bay and as he stopped, she thought she saw him sway to one side before catching and righting himself, but then convinced herself it had been a trick of the light.

Looking past him, her eyes fell upon a Wraith ship. Upon first glance, it looked similar enough to a dart, perhaps a bit larger, but when Janus disintegrated the cover of the cockpit, she noticed that instead of one pilot's seat, there were two.

"You need a copilot to operate this thing?" Sheppard asked.

Janus steadied himself with a hand upon the dart and cast his gaze in their general direction, appearing uncharacteristically self-conscious. "Unfortunately...yes," he answered. "It was installed as a safety precaution, should I have posed a flight risk. I cannot operate this dart without a Wraith to pilot it alongside me."

"I'm sorry, what?" Sheppard whisper-shouted. "You're telling me that we can't blow this popsicle stand unless we take a Wraith along for the ride, too? Why the hell did you wait until now to tell us this?"

"I figured, at some point, we would cross paths with a drone and we could... _persuade_ it to come along with us."

"And by persuade, you mean threaten?" Ronon asked.

"Something along those lines, yes." Janus scrunched his eyes closed and brought a hand to his forehead, as if he were in pain.

"Oh, this is a terrible plan," McKay whined. "This is a horrible, no good, very bad plan. First of all, do you see any extra drones lying around? Because I certainly don't. Second, don't you think it's a bit –"

"John," Teyla said softly. "Perhaps I can do it."

Sheppard quirked an eyebrow up at her. "You think ..."

"What specifically does the dart require from the Wraith co-pilot?" she asked of Janus.

He cleared his throat. "Ironically, I designed the interface myself."

"Gotta love irony at a time like this," Sheppard muttered.

"You designed it yourself but you can't find a work around for it?" McKay asked.

"I designed it to operate much like Lantean technology," he explained, ignoring both Sheppard and McKay's snide commentary. "When a Wraith touches the controls, the interface either senses or does not sense the presence of Wraith DNA. If the sensors detect Wraith DNA, the controls unlock themselves."

"Then I can do it," Teyla said. A look of determination spread across her face, while suspicion tinged Sheppard's. "I have flown a hive ship before, have I not?"

"Yeah, but you were pregnant then, Teyla. You were the one who admitted that Torren kinda gave you a leg up on that one."

"Yes, but that was an entire hive ship. This is merely a dart. You have flown darts before and you do not have any Wraith in your blood."

Sheppard released a reluctant sigh.

"Does she – do you possess Wraith DNA?" Janus asked, his eyebrows arched in astonishment. Eva was sure this time that he was leaning a bit too heavily against the side of the ship.

"I do," Teyla replied.

"Well then that might just –"

Out of nowhere, the sound of a thousand souls all shrieking at once screamed overhead, making her jump. A siren.

"Care to tell us what that is?" Sheppard shouted over the sound.

"They've—" Janus blinked hard, then shook his head. "They've sounded the alarm. Your escape has been detected. They must have found the bodies of the drones in the armory."

"Yeah, or they finally noticed our cell was empty," Ronon retorted.

"We must make haste," Janus said. "Come, Teyla."

Teyla left the security of the cloak, hurried to Janus' side, and leapt quite elegantly into the cockpit of the drone. She set her hands upon the controls and the display came to life, lighting the contours of her face in an orange-green glow.

"Well I'll be damned," Sheppard murmured.

"We will beam you into the cargo hold," Janus instructed, "but in order for us to do so, you will need to lower the cloak. We will not know where to direct the beam if we cannot see you. Wait until we are in the air, then lower it." He turned toward the dart, ready to board it, when his knees gave out on him.

"Janus!" Teyla stood in her seat and leaned over the edge of the cockpit, her eyes wide with concern.

Sheppard raced to his aid and helped him to his feet.

"I am fine. Just a brief moment of disorientation." He took a deep breath and lifted his chin high. "Now, we must hurry."

"Forgive me if I don't totally trust your flying capabilities in this exact moment," Sheppard said sharply, still holding tightly to the Ancient's shoulders.

Once again, Janus lost control of his legs. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out, Sheppard's grasp on him the only thing preventing him from toppling over entirely. The colonel leaned him against the dart, his ear close to Janus' mouth, eyebrows knitted with confusion.

"Rogers! Get over here! I can't understand a thing he's saying. I think he's speaking in Ancient."

There was a disturbance in the cold air from behind Eva and soon Emma was also outside their invisible forcefield, kneeling to hear what Janus was saying.

"Fly. Hurry. They are coming. Fly. Hurry." She translated with stoicism and a shake of the head, looking into Sheppard's face. "Colonel, he's not saying anything important. We need –"

Sheppard didn't waste a second. He jumped into the pilot's chair of the dart while shouting out orders. "Chewie, get Janus back under the cloak."

Ronon clapped a firm hand on Eva's shoulder. "Stay here," he said before he sprinted toward where the Ancient, phasing in and out of consciousness, lay. He grabbed him by the wrists, Emma took his ankles, and together they began to drag him back toward the cloak.

"Rogers!" Sheppard called. "Hang on! I need you!"

Eva could only see the back of Ronon's head, but she saw Emma's eyes lift and presumably meet his before gently setting Janus' ankles down and running back to Sheppard.

Sheppard had begun the series of pre-flight checks, but was clearly encountering difficulties. "This thing's different than the other darts I've flown. The dash is half in Ancient, half in Wraith…" he said, glancing over at Emma who had hoisted herself halfway up the dart and was leaning over the cockpit, studying his controls. "This is still the throttle…"

Eva watched as Emma pointed to the various controls, only catching a fraction of her words. "Inertial dampeners." "Cannon." "Beam."

"Shield?" she heard Sheppard ask. "Darts don't have shields."

"This one does," she replied. "Good to go? Think you can remember all that?"

"Coulda been in Mensa," Sheppard said with a wink.

There was a brief pause on Emma's side of the conversation. "That a yes or a no?"

"That's a …never mind. I got it. Thanks, Rogers."

She jumped down, brushed her hands on the sides of her pants, and started making her way back to the rest of them.

Ronon was close now. "McKay? Eva? Where the hell are you?" he asked, looking wildly over his shoulder for their invisible forms as he dragged Janus' limp body across the floor.

"Emma! Look out!"

It was Teyla's voice that had shouted the warning. Eva shifted her gaze from Ronon and Janus over to the dart and looked on in horror as a squadron of Wraith drones surrounded the ship, all with their stunners aimed at Sheppard and Teyla. Her eyes then focused on the foreground where a Wraith soldier with long, white hair that gleamed in the black-red dark, was holding Emma at knife point. Upon seeing this, Ronon instantly dropped Janus' limp weight and, drawing his weapon, charged toward them.

"Drop the knife!" he shouted.

"Take one step closer and I will not hesitate to spill every last drop of her blood!"

Ronon halted in his tracks but kept his weapon held high. "What do you want?"

"Give me the girl and I will spare this one's life."

The bottom of Eva's stomach dropped out from underneath her. They wanted her life in exchange for her mother's.

"What girl?" Ronon growled.

The soldier's grip on Emma tightened and she let out a strangled sound of pain as it dug the point of its knife into her neck, releasing a small trickle of blood. "You know perfectly well to what I am referring. Surrender her to me and I will release the woman."

"We don't know where she is." Ronon's voice was as steady as his gun, still aimed at the Wraith.

Eva, on the other hand, was trembling.

"What a shame." The Wraith lightly dragged the knife against Emma's neck causing her to cry out, leaving a shallow bleeding line in its wake. Its eyes flashed back to Ronon's. "This will be the last time I ask. Where is the girl?"

Eva could take it no longer. "Stop it!" she shrieked as she revealed herself, leaving her invisible haven behind.

Ronon tore his eyes away from Emma and the Wraith to look back at her. "Eva!" he shouted, anger mingling with shock in his voice.

She was shaking from head to toe, but took great pains to make sure it didn't show as she marched resolutely toward the Wraith. She made it no farther than Ronon's side before he caught her arm in his free hand to stop her from advancing any closer.

A smile spread across the Wraith's countenance as its eyes surveyed her. "Come with me and I let her go," it said to her.

"Take back your scientist, instead." Ronon made a vague gesture of his chin over to Janus' unconscious form behind them. "He's gotta be worth more than her. What good will she do you? She's just a kid."

"I am not here to entertain any other bargains. The woman's life – and those of your comrades," it jerked its head toward Sheppard and Teyla in the dart in the background, "for the girl's."

"Ronon," Emma whispered, catching his eyes with her own. Tears were forming along her lower lashes, but her gaze was intense and exacting. "Please…"

Eva's parents were always capable of having entire conversations solely by looking at each other without needing to say a single word; time and circumstance notwithstanding, Eva was a bit annoyed to see they were managing to do it now. She glanced over to Ronon who, still staring at Emma, nodded almost imperceptibly. With a frustrated sigh, he lowered his weapon, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before he finally holstered it. A lump formed in Eva's throat as she realized that was her cue to surrender herself to the Wraith. She took one step forward and in the instant she did, Ronon's arms closed around her, trapping her in an iron grip.

"What the –? Let me go!" she screeched. "It's going to kill her!" She kicked against him, tried to head butt him in the chin, tried every defensive maneuver he himself had taught her, but he was unrelenting. He wouldn't let her go.

"We won't let you have her," Emma said to the Wraith as tears fell down her cheeks.

The knife glinted red in the dark.

"You humans are all the same," it snarled. "What purpose does it serve to –"

_Bam!_

There was a gunshot, then a scream from Emma as the Wraith fell, its blood and brains splattered across the floor.

"Run!" The shout had come from McKay who had appeared out of the ether, gun in his right hand and a remote control in the other.

Needing no other explanation and suddenly freed from Ronon's grasp, she did just that.

"Sheppard, raise that shield!" McKay yelled into the radio.

The following events were a blur. There was a loud explosion, then a wave of heat. Next thing she knew, she was sprawled out on her stomach, covering her ears and her head. She felt, rather than saw, the dart above. A shining beam of white light captured her and an instant later, she found herself thinking purgatory smelled an awful lot like wet grass.


	36. Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having just escaped from the Wraith Cruiser, Sheppard leads to the team to the Alpha Site. There, Emma begins to heal both physically and emotionally from her injuries, with a little help from Ronon.

"I didn't even think about it! I just did it! I snuck up behind one of the drones, attached some C4 to the back of its armor and once I was far enough away…boom! Fire in the hole." She could hear the breathless excitement of McKay's voice through the ringing in her ears. "I can't believe it worked. I mean, I could have seriously incinerated the crap out of all of us…but it worked!"

Emma blinked hard and, propping herself up on her forearms, tried to push her body off the soggy ground but a sprawling weight across her back crushed her into the damp grass. Falling flat again, she turned her head to investigate the heavy burden, but stopped short as the severed skin of her neck stretched and rubbed raw against itself, stinging anew as though the Wraith's knife were once again slicing through her skin. She must have made some sound of pain, for the weight against her back instantly lifted and before she realized what was happening, someone much stronger than her was rolling her onto her back, raising her torso off the rain-soaked earth, helping her to sit upright.

Blinking again, she forced her eyes to focus themselves onto the person in front of her. His eyes, neither green, nor brown, nor yellow, but a perfect coalescence of all three and sharp as a wolf's, did not meet her own; they darted back and forth, searching her body with a thoroughness that from any other man would have made her skin crawl. She was used to men gorging themselves upon the sight of her – they always did – sometimes up close, sometimes from across the room. Sometimes, if she looked close enough, she could even see their pupils dilate as they roamed about her figure. And yet, though Ronon was inspecting every inch of her, face and neck, breast and waist, hips and legs, there was no hunger behind his gaze, no desire, only concern…and something else. Was it fear? All at once, hot tears, the emotion behind which she couldn't quite pinpoint, burned at the back of her eyes. She swallowed hard to keep them at bay, but the rise and fall of her larynx only made the pain from the cut in her neck worse. This time she heard herself, like some small and pathetic animal, whimper softly.

"Ronon!" Sheppard's voice called in rebuke.

The wolf eyes stopped their wandering and rested on her own. The places where his hands had been, warm on her back and arm, were left vulnerable to the cold and humid air as he released her and raised himself onto his knees. He shoved back the leather of his coat and began to tear a long strip of cloth from his shirt, the sounds of ripping fabric and popping seams getting lost amongst the soft pitter pat of the rain.

Curiosity got the better of her and she dared a glimpse at the wound. She couldn't see the cut itself, but watched with a sort of transfixed morbidity as her blood ran in rivulets down her chest, merging with fallen raindrops, rolling downward until it was absorbed by the collar of her black cotton shirt.

"You're all right." Ronon sounded like he was speaking through a tin can as he pressed the folded fabric to her throat. "Looks worse than it is, I promise." He cradled the back of her head in his other hand to stabilize her against the force he was exerting against her neck.

Nodding, albeit a bit feebly in reply, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. With a shaking hand, she held to his wrist, his skin warm and his bones solid in her grasp. How long had she been trembling?

"Is she gonna be okay?" Without looking, she recognized the voice as Eva's, though its usual edge was replaced with something that might have been worried innocence.

She didn't hear his reply.

Sheppard called to Ronon again, this time the frustration and urgency more apparent in his tone. "Chewie, she'll be fine if she keeps putting pressure on that wound. We gotta get outta here and I need your help carrying Janus through the gate." The breeze then carried his voice in the opposite direction. "Rodney, dial the Alpha Site."

There was a mechanic buzz and a series of clunks as McKay entered the address and the chevrons engaged along the rim of the Stargate, but Ronon didn't move. Emma opened her eyes and looked at him in query. From the short time they had spent together on this mission, she had gathered that he was definitely one to question orders, but never one to outright disobey them. Her heart jolted uncomfortably in her chest.

"Go," she whispered as she released his wrist and brought her own hand to her throat.

He might have nodded in reply before he stood and turned to leave, but after taking one small step in the other direction, he faced her again, shrugged the coat off his shoulders and wrapped it around her. He left to join Sheppard, but not before touching Teyla on the arm and trusting Emma's medical care to the Athosian.

Teyla offered her a hand. "Come. We need to leave this place."

With Teyla's assistance, she got carefully to her feet and took a brief moment to look at their surroundings. Small and sporadic drops of rain fell from the sky where dark, gravid clouds threatened an imminent and much heavier downpour. The tall magnolia trees around them bore young pink buds just shy of bloom and tiny droplets of rain clung to each verdant blade of grass at her feet. This wasn't the autumnal forest from which they had been sequestered only hours before. Spurred by a suspicion that the Wraith might be able to track and find them, Sheppard must have taken them to another planet where they could stash the dart.

The green meadow flashed blue as the event horizon was established and Sheppard, a bit preoccupied with the task of carrying Janus, motioned everyone through. In one step, the peaceful, rainy meadow morphed into a windowless, concrete room illuminated by the artificial glare of fluorescent lights.

"We need a medical team!" Sheppard shouted as he and Ronon, as gently as possible, laid Janus' unconscious form on the ramp leading to the gate.

Within seconds, a skeleton crew of medical personnel arrived with a gurney. They hauled Janus onto it and began taking his vitals as Sheppard explained his symptoms, their situation, and the fact that they now had a thousands-year-old Ancient patient in their care. As Emma watched them start to roll him down a dim hallway, the overwhelming need to sit down overcame her. Clutching to the ramp railing with one hand, the other still pressed firmly against her bleeding neck, she felt herself sinking closer and closer to the floor.

"Nurse!"

Ronon's hand came under her arm, lifting her back up, and one of the nurses, beckoned by his call, appeared at her side. The woman wrapped a comforting arm around her back and ushered her down the same hallway they had taken Janus through. She took one last look over her shoulder at the rest of the team in the gate room, watching as Ronon's eyes followed her until they turned a corner, out of sight.

Although he was no longer at her side, she could still smell him…leather, and woodsmoke, and musk. It was something she hadn't noticed amidst the springtime fragrances of wet grass and magnolia blossom in the meadow. But now, released by rain and magnified by the concrete sterility of the Alpha Site, the leather coat resting on her shoulders exuded the trapped scents that were unmistakably Ronon. She drew it more tightly around herself and, though her skin was damp and clammy, both from the rainfall and from shock, a small ball of warmth took up residence in the space between her chest and her stomach.

* * *

A cut across the neck didn't seem so bad when compared to what Janus, in the bed next to hers, was experiencing. She couldn't see him – a curtain had been drawn around her bed, more for her privacy than for his – but based on what she could hear from the doctors and nurses tending to him, he had taken a turn for the worse. Apparently, his muscles had begun to spasm uncontrollably once they had transported him into the infirmary wing, and so his limbs had been strapped to the gurney. This made her acutely aware every time he had such a seizure, for the gurney would shake and creak with his convulsions, the machines attached to him would set off their alarms, and he would cry out in Ancient, begging those around him to put him out of his misery. She would take a cut on the neck any day over what the doctors had determined was essentially drug withdrawal from millennia of dependence on the Wraith feeding enzyme.

"Okay." The nurse leaned back, set her tools on a tray, and removed her gloves. "Looks like we're done. I only had to put in one suture. Closed the rest with some tissue adhesive. Hopefully it'll heal up pretty quick and won't scar too much."

Emma sat up slowly and thanked the nurse, who promptly left her in peace. After changing into the clean new shirt they had provided – the one she had been wearing before had been cut off – she stood and crossed the tiny makeshift space they had created for her. She slid back into her Atlantis-issue jacket, then picked up Ronon's coat. Holding it again, staring at it, she felt an inexplicable desire to put it back on, to shelter herself from the earlier events of the day, but she resisted, instead folding it into a neat bundle and setting it on the hospital bed.

As she took a moment to herself to splash some warm tap water on her face and comb her fingers through her tangled hair, the sound of shouting voices caught her attention. Coming from the corridor just outside the infirmary, they didn't sound like the terse yet urgent, business-like shouts of the medical professionals attending to Janus as his vitals inevitably dropped for the umpteenth time. These shouts were marked by thinly-veiled anger and frustration, their volume slowly increasing in steady crescendo.

"I'm not in charge, Eva. That's not my call and you know it."

"But you can talk to Sheppard – try to convince him that we need to go back. That planet was culled because of me. Those people were taken by the Wraith and it was my fault."

"Those people were taken because they brought the Wraith upon their own planet by selling us out to them! Or have you forgotten how they tried to poison us?"

"Only because the Wraith were looking for me!"

"The villagers probably made some deal with them and – surprise – the Wraith didn't hold up their end of the bargain and decided to kill them all, anyway."

"But not all of the locals were guilty. We have to go back! We have to go back to the settlement and look for survivors. We have to help them!"

"Our orders are to wait until we debrief with Woolsey back on Atlantis."

Eva let out a very teenage expression of frustration which Emma took as a less-than-eloquent denunciation of bureaucracy.

"And even if Woolsey does clear a mission back there – and that's a big fucking 'if' – you are not coming along. You are going to stay back in the city, where you'll be safe."

"I will not!"

"Yes, you will. You will, for once, do as you're told and stay put."

"You always tell me to stay put!"

"And you never listen! Multiple times, I told you to stay where you were because where you were was safe. But you ignored me every single time, and put not only your safety, but Rogers's safety at risk."

"Yeah, and every time I ended up saving your life!" she scoffed. "And Sheppard's, and Teyla's, and Emma's –"

"I told you to stay put," Ronon snarled.

"But you needed help!" she shouted. "Both times the Wraith had you at a disadvantage and –"

"And you were safe where you were!" he shouted back. "We had it under control!"

"No, you didn't!" she argued. "Besides, Emma didn't stay put either."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Back on the planet…when the Wraith were attacking and you told us not to move. She left our hiding spot. Is that why you're headed to the infirmary? To find her and yell at her, too, for not listening to you?" she taunted. "Fair's fair."

There was silence for a moment.

"Tell me her name." Ronon's voice had dropped to a below-normal volume and Emma raised her eyebrows at this odd change in the conversation.

Eva paused before she answered. "Emma."

"No," Ronon replied. "What do people on Atlantis call her?"

She hesitated again. "Dr. Rogers?"

"Right. _Doctor_ Rogers."

Emma took this as her cue to start making her way into the corridor to make her presence known. She didn't need to be the source of their fighting. Picking up Ronon's coat and hugging it tightly to her chest, she headed cautiously toward the entrance of the infirmary.

"_Doctor_ Rogers is a competent adult who can make her own decisions and decide if an order can be ignored."

"Oh, and I can't?"

"No," he growled "Because you're a child. And the only reason Rogers even got involved and needed to disobey my order is because _you_ didn't listen to me!"

"I _don't_ need to listen to you –"

"Yeah, you do."

"No, I don't, because you're not my father!"

"Why should that even matter? I bet you didn't listen to him either!" he spat. "'Cause if you had, you never would've been turned into a runner!"

"Ronon," Emma said in a gentle, but chiding whisper.

His head whipped around at the sound of his name, but Eva continued to stare up at him, silent, her eyes starting to fill with tears. Without another word, she turned on her heel and fled into the dark base.

Ronon released a growl of frustration and slammed the side of his fist into the concrete wall. Emma jumped and involuntarily shut her eyes as he made contact.

A quote from one of the many pamphlets the college-appointed psychologist had given her nearly five years ago appeared in her mind's eye. _Signs of physical abuse can include beating on tables, punching holes in walls, destroying furniture, or throwing objects at you to threaten you. The message is, "You're next. You're just an object I can control and I can break you like our china."_ She remembered rolling her eyes, wondering what college students even owned china… but past experience had told her the outdated brochure wasn't totally mistaken.

She opened her eyes. "Please don't do that." She said it in such a small voice, she wasn't sure it was hers.

"Look Rogers, you were the one who wanted her to come along on this mission and if you don't like how I just yelled at her, then you can –"

"No," she interrupted. "She needed to hear it. She—" Emma glanced down at the floor, "she could have gotten seriously hurt or…or killed. I think a little tough love was the right call."

"Tough love?" he repeated with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Or whatever that was," she shrugged. "I mean, the last part was maybe a little harsh, but…" She trailed off, realizing that saying more would mean straying into the realm of co-parenting, which she, for one, was not quite ready for.

Ronon pressed his lips together and crossed his arms across his chest.

"What I meant was, please…" She took a deep breath. "Please don't hit the wall like that. At least, not around me…and—and not around Eva, either," she added with a bit of hesitation.

He looked self-consciously down at his fist, rubbed the edge of it with his other hand, then looked back at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. He nodded ever so slightly, eyeing her up and down, and took a step back. "Sorry."

That was all she needed to say. Maybe he didn't understand it all, but he understood enough.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh…I came to find you."

She looked up at him and stepped tentatively toward him, closing the distance he had just created.

"We're heading home in about ten minutes."

"Home?"

The corner of his mouth twitched and she wondered if he, too, was thinking about the starlit conversation they had had the night before. "Yeah."

"I like the sound of that."

"Thought you might." He looked down at her and she watched as thoughts of what to say or do next flashed across his eyes. "How you feeling?" he finally asked.

She laughed quietly to herself, directing her gaze to the floor. "Better. No longer bleeding, so that's a definite improvement." The muscles in her throat quickly constricted and the lump suddenly formed there made speaking difficult. "But um…" she chanced a glance back up at him, "I'm real shaken up," she admitted.

He stared at her for a long time after that, not saying a single word, until eventually, he pried his coat from her hands and set it on the floor, took her into his arms and brought her close to him.

Her first thought was that he was impossibly warm. His heart beat steadily against her ear, chest rising and falling with each slow breath he took, and as he adjusted his arms around her, she could feel the hard strength of the muscles in his back tensing and shifting under her hands as he moved. Knowing about his past and his odds-defying fight for survival were one thing, but there was a shocking vitality about him that only in this moment, swathed in it, had she begun to comprehend. Clammy skin, ragged breath, and jittery heartbeat, she felt like an absolute corpse in comparison. She had come so close so many times within the past day to becoming just that, a realization which sent a new wave of tears to her eyes. She clung to him, pressing herself a bit more closely against his body than a mere friend or colleague in need of comfort should, finding refuge in his embrace.

He would let her. If she needed to weep in his arms, let it all out, allow herself to be a mess for a few minutes, he would let her. She knew he would. And maybe if they were somewhere that wasn't a public hallway in the middle of the Alpha Site, she would let herself. But it had already been too long and it would only be a matter of time before someone, someone like Sheppard or McKay, discovered them and started making assumptions.

With great reluctance, she pulled slightly away from him and looked up into his face. Hooded hazel eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of his scarred brow, stared back at her. Small wrinkles creased at their edges and puffy bags had started to form beneath his lower lashes. He needed sleep. They all did. His gaze dipped to her lips and for just an instant, as he swept a lock of hair over her shoulder and away from her face, it felt like they were back on the floor of the Temple of the Portunos. But the moment passed as soon as she sensed it, and she figured she had either misinterpreted the situation...or he had changed his mind.

"Looks like they did a good job," he commented.

His hand still lingered on the side of her neck, causing her breath to come in short and shallow bursts. "What?" 

"On your neck." He tilted her chin back so he could get a better look, the callouses on his thumb and index finger lightly scratching the delicate skin there. "Bet it won't even scar."

The anticipation got the better of her; she swallowed nervously in spite of herself, and knew that he must have seen it happen, for his hand dropped decorously to her shoulder. She opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) to see Ronon looking sheepishly back at her. The wolf, sheepish. Had she not been so intoxicated by him, she might have laughed at the irony.

"Ronon…" Public place be damned; she wanted his hands on her again.

"Dr. Rogers?"

Both their heads snapped toward the source of the voice - one of the nurses poking his head out of the infirmary. She was relieved to see he was an Alpha Site employee and not one from Atlantis; he seemed complete unfazed by the fact that her arms were still clasped around Ronon's middle, his hands splayed across her back.

"Good. You're still here," he said. "The patient is speaking again, but this time in full sentences. Can you come in here and translate?"

"Yeah," she said, still somewhat breathless. She cleared her throat and released herself from Ronon's grasp. "Yes. I'll be there in a second."

Clearly too busy with his own duties to be even remotely interested in their embrace, the nurse nodded and disappeared into the infirmary.

Alone once more, Emma knelt to pick up Ronon's coat and carefully brushed the dirt from the worn leather before giving it back. "Thank you," she whispered.

He stared at the coat for a moment and as he took it back, one of his rough hands grazed her own. "Any time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a real soft spot for this chapter. I liked showing how Ronon the soldier could maintain a cool level-headedness in the midst of chaos, but also liked portraying a softer side of him that (in my opinion) isn't out of character. Ronon is clearly a very physical person and so I like to incorporate that physicality in the way he communicates, too. 
> 
> Much in the same way he comforted Jeannie (a woman he knows, but not super well) in the Shrine with a hug, I wanted him to do the same for Emma. I didn't think he would have any words of comfort, but he would try to make her feel better nonetheless. But then there's that added extra layer of romantic feelings/attraction on top of all of it, which I just really like to wallow in haha. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed, too!


	37. Alpha Site

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to head back to Atlantis, but there's a last-minute change of plans.

What the hell was he doing?

Not two nights ago, she had all but confessed that she had feelings for him, or potentially would if only he reciprocated those feelings. He had rebuffed her, hoping that if he told her he wasn't interested she could tamp down those potential feelings before they took root. But there was no potential in what he had just witnessed. Her feelings toward him were already in full bloom. He could still feel the soft skin of her neck and her feather-light pulse beneath his fingers, could still picture how her eyes had closed and her lips had parted at his touch.

He didn't know what had provoked him to hold her like that, to embrace her the way he had. She had let her guard down around him and he had been tempted. Whether she had needed him or not…whether she had wanted him or not, he shouldn't have done it. It was wrong to give her false hope. Wrong to let her believe he had finally overcome the death of his wife. He would have to be more careful around her.

He pulled his blaster from its holster and spun it absentmindedly; he needed something to distract himself, to replace the memory of her body in his hands.

Sheppard appeared at his side and, as he did, the gate sprung to life and an announcement sounded overhead.

"Scheduled incoming wormhole."

"What's this?" Ronon holstered the gun and turned to his friend. "Thought we were going home."

"We are. But I asked Woolsey to send Beckett and a security contingent over first. Resources are thin enough around here as it is, and I felt a bit guilty asking them to stretch any further."

Ronon had known John long enough to be able to read between the lines. The employees on Atlantis were the best and the brightest, whereas those that ended up on the Alpha Site…well, they weren't Sheppard's men. Grunting in reply, he looked over his shoulder for what had to have been the fifth time in as many minutes to see Teyla and McKay heading over to join them. He must have made some indication of disappointment at the sight of them, because Sheppard peered curiously up at him.

"You expecting somebody else?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh?" He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. "No."

Had the circumstances been different, Sheppard would have pressed the matter further, but the appearance of Dr. Beckett and four marines through the Stargate sufficiently distracted him and saved Ronon from having to endure any further questioning. He jogged up the ramp to meet the new arrivals.

"Carson!" Sheppard exclaimed. "Glad you could make it."

"Didn't have much of a bloody choice now, did I?" Beckett retorted.

"I'm sure Janus appreciates the house call."

"I'm sure," he muttered under his breath. "Now. I expect he'll be in the infirmary, then?"

As Sheppard explained the circumstances in which they had encountered Janus to the doctor, Ronon found himself once again looking over his shoulder. Where the hell was she? If she didn't show up soon, they'd have to page her. Or maybe he should go looking for her again, let her know they were about ready to leave.

"Hanson."

At the sound of the man's name, Ronon snapped his attention back to the security contingent and looked more closely at the small team of marines.

"Sir," the captain responded, lifting his hand in salute.

He didn't know why he was surprised. It made sense that Hanson would be here – he was head of base security, after all – but something about the guy didn't sit right with Ronon. He studied the young man's face and after a few seconds concluded that Hanson had to be younger, maybe by a couple years, than he was. His face was broad, as was his neck, and his strong, cleanly-shaved jaw came together in a wide, clefted chin. The corporal's hair was blond, buzzed short in the style many of the marines favored, which made it seem like his ears stuck out just a fraction more than they should. Despite his thick, somewhat simian appearance, he was not an unattractive man. Or so much Ronon assumed, based on the constant female attention the marine seemed to enjoy. The thought made him recall the time, a few weeks ago, when he had seen Hanson and Rogers talking together in the commissary.

A knot tightened in his stomach -- that had to have been the last time he had seen her laugh or smile like that.

"At ease, Captain. Glad you could make it," Sheppard said. "It's not that I don't trust our new friend…I just think he's hiding something from us. I, for one, would prefer to find out what that is sooner rather than later. Keep an eye on him and I want you on the lookout for any suspicious behavior if and when he regains consciousness."

"Understood, sir."

"I want regular check-ins, every 6 hours."

"Yes, sir."

"And keep an eye on our doctors, too."

"Of course, sir."

"Hang on a minute. Doctors?" McKay interrupted. "What do you mean, 'doctors…' _plural_?"

"Don't you remember? Woolsey decided he wants you to stay," Sheppard revealed.

"He what?"

"I didn't tell you that? I could have sworn I told you that…"

"You most definitely did not!" McKay had gone red in the face. "Why the hell does he want me to stay?"

"He wants you to do a few scans on Janus, go through all of his personal effects with a fine-toothed comb... You know, the usual, until we can -- with one-hundred percent certainty -- say that he's clear to be brought back to the city." Sheppard squinted at McKay. "Are you sure I didn't tell you this?"

"Positive! I haven't even showered or…or had a real meal or gotten any sleep. And now you plan on stranding me here?"

"Och, you're not stranded, Rodney," Beckett said, placing a would-be comforting arm around McKay's shoulders. He was clearly taking great joy in his friend's discomfort. "I'll be here, too. Misery loves company, does it not?"

"Oh, please," McKay muttered. "And I suppose I'm misery in this case?"

"Rogers'll be here, too," Sheppard added.

The knot in Ronon's intestines hardened. "Rogers? Isn't she supposed to be coming home with us?"

"Change in plans. Woolsey wants her to stay, too, in case Janus reveals something in Ancient or McKay needs something translated."

"Emma Rogers?" Captain Hanson interjected.

Sheppard quickly nodded in casual confirmation.

"Sheppard…" Ronon lowered his voice and turned to partially block Hanson from their conversation. "She shouldn't have to stay. Not after what happened to her. Woolsey can send another linguist. Have him send that…Alan guy, or whatever his name is."

"After what happened to her?" Hanson echoed as a look of concern fell across his features. "What do you mean what happened to her? Is she okay?"

"Dr. Rogers had an encounter –"

"Don't worry about it," Ronon said dismissively, effectively cutting off Sheppard's explanation.

The marine took a step closer to him and looked up into his face. "Where is she?'

Ronon narrowed his eyes and glared down at him.

"She's in the infirmary," Sheppard answered.

The captain broke his stare, eyes going wide as he looked past Ronon and toward Sheppard.

"Don't worry," he quickly said upon seeing Hanson's worried reaction. "She's fine. She's just in there interpreting."

"Sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to check on her. Permission to be dismissed?"

"Granted." Sheppard nodded.

Hanson gathered his men and as he passed by Ronon, he reached up and clasped his shoulder in his hand. "Thanks for watching out for Emma for me. I really appreciate it."

Ronon scowled at the man's hand. If he didn't remove it within the next few seconds, the stocky marine was going to find himself thrown like a ragdoll against the metal ramp.

Hanson's grip tightened. "But I can take it from here." He let go, knocking Ronon with his shoulder as he passed. The other marines, along with Beckett and McKay, followed in his wake.

Ronon didn't bother to watch them go and instead turned to face the gate. "Let's get outta here," he muttered to Sheppard.

Sheppard spun on his heel to look up at the gate technicians. "All right," he called. "Fire it up!" He took a moment to stop and make sure that the whole team, at least those returning to Atlantis, were accounted for. "Wait a minute…where's – "

"What are _you_ looking at, semper shitbird?" an angry voice echoed from the hallway.

"Never mind," he sighed. "Found her."

Eva came storming into the embarkation room and, hardly waiting enough time for the event horizon to settle into a stable pool, stomped through the gate.

Sheppard followed, shouting futilely after her about the proper way to address officers under his command. Ronon was close behind, but before he stepped through the gate, he felt Teyla's hand on his arm.

"I would not believe everything Captain Hanson says," she said.

"Teyla, what're you talking about?"

She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Look, Rogers is a grown woman." Ronon shrugged with what he hoped was convincing indifference. "Who she chooses to be with is none of my business."

"And have you actually heard her say she has chosen to be with the captain?"

"Teyla, I really don't care."

She looked toward the floor, at the shimmering blue reflections of the gate's rippling surface. "I am no expert in time travel, but," she lifted her gaze, "I do not believe it insignificant that Eva is still here."

"Still here? Of course she's still here. We haven't found a way to send her back home."

"As Rodney has pointed out, Eva's presence here is precarious. She has the power to change her future…all of our futures. One misstep and she could wipe herself from existence. So perhaps I should rephrase my earlier statement. I do not believe it insignificant that Eva still exists."

He didn't know why he even attempted to hide anything from Teyla; often she knew things about him before he knew them himself. She touched his arm again in a gesture of comfort and disappeared through the event horizon.

Alone with his thoughts, Ronon stared into the glowing blue puddle. Eva had come back to a time before her birth, but if she still existed – flesh and blood in front of their very eyes – that meant she was still destined to be born sometime in the future. And for her to be born…well…

The jealous knot in his gut loosened just a bit, only to be replaced with a very masculine sense of possession that made him even more uneasy than the jealousy had. He took one last look over his shoulder, and returned home.


	38. Experiments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left on the Alpha Site, Emma has a late-night visitor who brings unwelcome news.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: The overall tone of this chapter is pretty mature and ominous. At the risk of spoiling what's going to happen in this chapter, I've put a more detailed content warning in the chapter notes at the bottom for those who may need it. So scroll down, scroll back up, and potentially skip the end part of this chapter. :)
> 
> I was pretty nervous to include this, but I've thought a lot about it and think it should remain in the story. I hope I don't scare any of you off and I hope you continue to stay with me. Thanks everyone! Hope you're well.

This was her chance. If she wanted to get a few hours of sleep, she either needed to try now or she would have to wait another full day, possibly longer. For the next five hours – or rather, four hours and forty-five minutes, she realized as she glanced at her watch – the captain would be on shift, guarding the infirmary. She first checked to make sure the door was bolted, then turned out the light. Nothing quite like a ticking clock to foster peace and relaxation, she bitterly thought as she settled under the bedcovers.

Finding sleep should have been easy – it had been three days since she had even lain in a bed, after all – but she couldn't stop thinking about him. She could feel his eyes, always watching, his hands tight on her wrists, could hear his voice as clearly as though he were in the room with her.

"Hey, beautiful…"

Her skin chilled and she shuddered. Drawing herself into a tight ball under the scratchy sheets, the twin bed seemed far too large for her, as though she were a lone rowboat floating over deep, open waters. _He's in the infirmary,_ she told herself, _he won't be allowed to leave for the next four and a half hours._

She should have just left it there, but her thoughts began to race.

_But who makes those decisions? Who sets the shift schedule? He's head of security, isn't he? Couldn't he adjust those shifts to his liking? And even if he does stay in the infirmary, what if I oversleep? What if four hours turn to six turn to eight? What if he comes here when his shift ends? What if he…?_

She sat up in bed and shoved her glasses onto her face, squinting through the dark and windowless room to make sure the door was locked. It was, of course it was…but that reassurance didn't stop her initial shudder from developing into a violent, full-body shiver.

With a shaking hand, she placed her glasses back on the nightstand, lay down, and closed her eyes; they burned, a sure sign that she had been keeping them open too long. And no wonder, for under the guise of dedicated interpreter, she had spent the last day and a half at Janus' bedside, holding his hand and whispering soothing bits of Ancient into his ear, leaving only to grab something quick to eat, use the restroom, or bathe. The other marines, the nursing staff, the doctors, they had all commended her for her sleepless dedication and empathy toward the ailing Ancient.

Was she an exceptional linguist? Absolutely, if she did say so herself. She hadn't become senior linguist of the Atlantis operation at only twenty-five by slacking off or clocking out early (though a letter of recommendation from Dr. Daniel Jackson himself hadn't hurt either). But had she stayed with Janus out of an overwhelming sense of compassion… because her tender, feminine heart couldn't bear to watch him suffer alone? Regrettably, no. She stayed because the infirmary was a public place and she knew Captain Hanson wouldn't try anything with witnesses around. Unlike most other places, there were always people bustling about the Alpha Site infirmary and though being in the same room with Hanson was nearly intolerable, if she could see him and keep an eye on his actions, then someone else could, too. If she made sure she remained under McKay or Beckett's nose, he wouldn't be able to surprise her like he had in the hallways on Atlantis a few days earlier.

Now though, she was alone. _The door is locked_, she reminded herself as she willed her body to stop trembling. The walls were solid concrete, there were no windows, there were guards posted on every floor; this room was like a tiny Fort Knox. In spite of it all, she enjoyed no sense of security. Eyes wide open, she fixed a fuzzy stare on the cement ceiling, wishing it were the Pegasus sky. How, under a canopy of stars, in the middle of the wilderness surrounded by whistling pines and wild animals, had she felt safer than she did in this moment?

_You know why, _a quiet, niggling voice said.

She flipped abruptly onto her side and punched the pillow. It was too fluffy, too hard, too crinkly. She wanted her own pillow. She wanted her own blankets, her own sheets, her own pajamas. She wanted her cactus blossom candle. She wanted to open a window and let the rip and curl of the Lantean surf lull her to sleep. She wanted to be back home.

Maybe she hadn't been completely truthful with Ronon that second night on the planet. Atlantis _had_ begun to feel like home; at least, compared to this drab hunk of concrete it certainly did. And maybe her blankets and her pillow weren't the only things she wanted in bed with her.

"Oh, stop it," she said aloud, flopping onto her stomach, too embarrassed with herself to notice she was no longer shivering. She clamped her eyes shut and tried to think, not of men, but of sheep.

Her breath slowed with each fence-hopping lamb, and somewhere in the high fifties, they turned into cows. Eventually she lost count, but the little cows dutifully continued to jump the fence, one after the other, until there were no cows left – just a bull. It rammed the fence, the wood shaking and splintering under the impact. It charged again and the top beam split in half. One more blow and there would be nothing to stop it from coming right for her. She woke from her state of half sleep with a start, but the ramming continued. It took her a few seconds to realize that the sound wasn't coming from her dream, but rather from someone knocking at her door.

"Who – who is it?" she called. Her heart thrummed in her ears.

"It's McKay!"

Propelled by relief, she leapt out of the bed, slipped her glasses on, and searched for her jacket. "Just a second!" Satisfied that her jacket adequately concealed her chest, she unbolted the door and opened it a crack. He had come alone. "Rodney…" She opened the door the rest of the way. "What are you doing here?"

"Good, you're awake." He strode into her room without waiting for an invitation and sat at the small table in the corner.

She took a seat across from the physicist. "I am now," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a messy bun to give her some semblance of professionalism.

"Thought you might be. Carson disagreed with me, though. Told me not to bother you."

"Did he now?"

McKay opened his computer and turned the screen toward her. "Anyway, I was going through Janus' personal items -- you know, the ones he had on him when we escaped -- and I found a data storage device inside his cloak."

"Like a flash drive?" Emma pulled her legs onto the chair, sitting cross-legged and barefoot as she leaned over to see the screen.

"Like a flash drive?" McKay repeated with derision. "It is a multi-terabyte, solid state storage device of Ancient design, small enough to fit in your pocket. It's full of different files, audio recordings, videos…"

She shot him a dubious look.

"Okay, exactly like a flash drive," he conceded.

Emma sighed loudly, pulled off her glasses, and rubbed her face.

"Problem is, most of the information is either in Ancient or in Wraith. Now I was able to translate a decent amount of it on my own –"

She put her glasses back on and raised her eyebrows at him.

"But I need your help with some of it."

"Only some of it?" She glanced back at the screen to see a still image, the beginning of a paused video. "Mmhmm. What are we looking at here?"

"Video files. From what I can gather, it looks like they're notes on various human trials and experiments. The labeling system is a bit convoluted – I'm still trying to figure it out –"

"Human experiments?" she asked warily, leaning away from the screen as though it might jump out and bite her. "What kind of human experiments?"

McKay looked her in the eyes. "That's what I need your help determining."

Emma swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Okay…"

McKay clicked open his tablet and sat staring at her, poised to take notes.

Her eyes shifted from his to the screen. With a bit of trepidation, she hit the space bar and the video clip started rolling. Throngs of women and children, filthy and dressed in rags, were shoved together in a small, enclosed area. A voice behind the camera began speaking in Wraith.

"Reality A.23, year 5237," she interpreted. "Separating the mature males from the females has helped to control population growth and reduce rebellious incidents in the main population. Females without offspring are the least likely to resist control. Conversely, females with male offspring have proven to be the most likely to exhibit resistance when said offspring are taken from them." The video cut to a clip of a Wraith drone stunning a woman and what must have been her ten-year old son before dragging the boy away by his feet. "However, aggression amongst the males has increased, resulting in several deaths." Once again, the video cut, this time to footage of only men, mostly large and muscled, standing in a circle while another male figure, smaller and thinner, lay crumpled and bleeding in the middle of the crowd.

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. "McKay?" She looked over the screen at him, but he was focused on typing out her translations.

The video went dark and she thought the footage had ended, but another scene soon began. "Reality D.12, year 3014." This particular recording showed the interior of a Wraith ship, likely the Cruiser they had just escaped from. In the far end of the frame, there were two people trapped in cocoons, one fighting tooth and nail to escape his fate, the other hardly showing any signs of life, staring blankly into the distance, resigned to it.

"Quality comparison between human runners and humans raised in captivity."

Two Wraith soldiers, feeding hands locked in chains, were brought to the cocoons. Though they each wore long leather coats that hid the shape of their bodies, she could tell from the gauntness of their faces and the knobbiness of their wrists that they were emaciated. The drone escorts removed their shackles and each soldier was directed to face a human – the first toward the struggling captive, the second toward his passive counterpart. Without waiting for permission or some other signal, the starving Wraith simultaneously began to feed.

Bile rising in her esophagus, Emma resisted the temptation to look away.

The second Wraith finished before the first and was immediately restrained as, in its mindless hunger, it lunged to feed on one of the drones. Once the first had taken its fill, it turned slowly to face its audience. Without any warning, two energy blasts similar to the kind emitted by Ronon's particle magnum, hit both of the Wraith prisoners in the chest. The second fell at once to the floor and Emma needed no confirmation from the drones onscreen to know that it had died. Its compatriot, however, the one that had gorged itself on what must have been a runner, looked down at the burning wound already regenerating in its chest and swiftly attacked the drone that had fired at it. After a momentary struggle in which a few drones got taken out, the soldier was once more subdued and locked in chains.

The voiceover placidly carried on, as though this were all routine. "Wild game once more proves to be of superior nourishment due to its natural resistive quality. Finding a way to integrate this into captivity bears further investigation."

Emma took a deep, steadying breath, comprehending just how lucky they had been to get both Eva and Ronon off that ship in time. The screen went black again, but the audio continued.

"Reality H.17, year 7492. Separating mature males from the females has proven successful here, as well. Mature males are further segregated from one another to temper aggression. Accidental deaths have been greatly reduced, but quality of sustenance, as expected, has declined. Males are only allowed to convene for breeding initiation."

The video cut once more.

"Breeding initiation. Reality H.17, year 7492. Sexually mature males are congregated behind a forcefield to watch the demonstration." The rising bile crept to the back of her throat as she looked at the group of boys, all of whom appeared to be between fourteen and sixteen years old. The youngest of them looked confused, but a few of the older ones had their eyes eagerly fixed on the open space in front of them. A pair of drones led a girl, about Eva's age, into the unoccupied space and left her there. "A sexually mature but inexperienced…" Emma cleared her throat, "a sexually mature but inexperienced female is brought to the center." The older boys, the ones she had noticed before, got as close as they possibly could to the forcefield without getting stunned by it. Silence ensued, every eye in the crowd locked on the girl.

Though the voice speaking in Wraith continued offscreen, Emma stopped interpreting. She watched long enough to see an unescorted man, not a boy, stalk toward the terrified girl before she slammed the laptop screen shut and shoved it back toward McKay. A delay between the visual and the audio meant that the Wraith voice managed to say a few more words before the speakers, too, shut themselves off.

"What the fuck, McKay?" She got out of her chair so quickly it fell to the floor with a clatter. "What the hell are you doing showing me that with no warning?" she shrieked.

"I'm sorry." He was wide-eyed. "I didn't realize –"

"Did you watch the video that far? Did you know that was going to happen?"

"No." He gave his head a vigorous shake. "No, I had no idea that was going to happen. I didn't make it that far into the –"

"Get out." She crossed one arm across her chest and pointed toward the door. "Take your stupid computer with you and get out of my room."

"Rogers –"

"Leave, Rodney," she said through gritted teeth. "Get out of here."

He collected his things faster than she had ever seen him move and made his way to the door. Turning around to look back at her, he opened his mouth to say her name but she interrupted.

"If you still need an interpreter, call Atlantis and have them send another linguist to do it. Do not come to me with something like that again, do you understand?"

"O-of course. I should have watched it all the way through. Emma, I'm so –"

"Good night, Rodney." She shut the door behind him, bolted the door, and collapsed onto the bed with her head in her hands, her stomach still churning.

The Wraith commander's last words on the Cruiser reverberated through her thoughts. "My little runner? I have a special plan for her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Implied underage rape that is not shown; does not happen to a main character.


	39. The Whole Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Eva have a conversation, long overdue.

As soon as she reached the threshold of the linguistics lab, something made her hesitate. Inside, Emma sat hunched over the table upon a tall stool, her forehead cradled in her right hand, a stack of photographs in her left. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic and, though Eva was in plain view and in no way trying to be stealthy, she showed no signs that she had noticed her presence. Eva knocked softly on the side of the doorframe before entering.

"Can I come in?"

Emma started at the sound of her voice and gave the room a frantic visual search until her eyes rested on Eva. After quickly composing herself, she smiled. "Of course." She blinked a few times as though to clear her vision as she swiveled in her chair. "Come on in."

Something was off.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Eva nonetheless took the adjacent seat her mother offered, which allowed her to more closely evaluate her appearance. Her red hair was neatly smoothed into a low, braided bun, which seemed a striking contrast to the usual loose and flowing style she favored. She wore more makeup than was normal for her, too, and had even put in a pair of earrings – two dark green studs that accentuated the color of her eyes. The choice of gem, whether genuine or not, brought a wry smile to her lips; May 12 made the emerald Eva's birthstone.

Any casual observer would have found Emma's whole look polished, elegant even, as though she had dressed to impress someone in particular. But Eva knew her better than that. Above what clothing, jewels, and cosmetics could do for her, her mother valued her natural beauty most. They hardly ever discussed things like that, the two of them. After all, her mother had spent her early formative years working on a horse ranch and Eva had been raised on a military base; there was no reason to dedicate much time to such frivolities. But on sunny weekend mornings, with her hair tousled and just a little bit tangled from the night before, face free of all makeup, and draped in the silk robe her father had given to her as a wedding gift, her mother didn't need to say a word for Eva to comprehend just how radiant she felt, free of pretense and in her own skin.

No, her mother only nitpicked at her own appearance when she was trying to hide something. It was textbook overcompensation, really. And sure enough, as Eva looked more intently into Emma's face, she saw the dark shadows looming beneath the translucent skin of her under eyes and the concealer she had applied there, in vain. Clearly, her recent stint on the Alpha Site had been trying.

"Haven't seen you in a while." Despite Emma's thinly-veiled exhaustion, her smile was genuine. "Few days, at least."

Fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, Eva nodded into her lap. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure how to begin.

"Well, aren't you shy as sapphires today…"

She looked back up into her mother's genial face and realized that twenty years hadn't made – wouldn't make? – much of a change. Sure, her real mother had fine little wrinkles at the edges of her eyes, laugh lines at the corners of her mouth, and a few gray hairs at her hairline, but her voice, her expression, her movements, they were all so familiar. She even smelled the same.

Eva took a deep breath. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you did for me back on the Cruiser," she said. "You hardly know me but you risked your life to save mine, anyway, so…thanks, I guess."

Evidently surprised by this sudden expression of gratitude, Emma stared wordlessly back at her. After a few seconds, the silence started to become uncomfortable; she wished she'd say something.

"I don't think that's true," Emma said quietly. "That I hardly know you, that is."

"You only met me like three weeks ago."

Emma shook her head. "That doesn't mean I don't know you. I, well…Ronon and I," a tinge of pink bloomed on her cheeks, "we theoretically raised you."

"Not so theoretically," Eva scoffed. "I remember it pretty well."

"And I can tell," she laughed. "I think we can all tell that Ronon had a significant part in your upbringing."

In spite of herself, Eva laughed, too. As people continually reminded her, the apple truly hadn't fallen very far from that tree.

"But…" Emma fixed an intense stare on her, "when I look at you, when I look past all the parts of you that take after him… It really is so surreal, so familiar…at times you really remind me –"

Eva hung her head. "Of Allie?"

Emma's eyes widened. "No. I was going to say of me."

"Oh." She fussed with the edge of her shirt once more, a bit embarrassed.

"You can be stubborn…a bit like me," she smirked. "It bothers you when people patronize you, or say you can't do something, and I can tell that you don't find it easy to accept help from others. You might only be sixteen, but you've already got one hell of an independent streak."

Amused by this description, Eva looked back up and raised her eyebrows at Emma. "You know you pretty much just described my dad, right?"

The stool squeaked as Emma leaned back in it. Apparently, no, she hadn't realized that the words she had chosen to describe herself just as accurately applied to the future father of her child. Hiding her surprise behind a mischievous smile she asked, "Then I guess there was no escaping it for you, was there?"

Eva shook her head and grinned, her long, dark braid swaying back and forth with the movement.

Her mother reached out to take it into her hand. "And you had to have learned this somewhere. Looks a little familiar to me."

Memories of patiently sitting cross-legged on her parents' bed as her mother's fingers combed through her hair, gently tugging and weaving like a bird building its nest, flooded back to her. From the day her hair had grown past her shoulders, her mom had taught her every type of braid she knew, and the Celtic braid that she had chosen to do today was definitely unique.

"I remember when my sister taught me this one." Emma smiled as she ran her thumb over the loops. She let go and the long side plait fell against Eva's chest.

The reference to her aunt made her chest tighten. How would her life have been different had her parents told her she had an older sister? Would the girls still have grown up separately if either of them had known? Would they have been as close as her mother and her aunt were?

With a jolt to the heart, Eva realized that this Emma, in this moment, was the same age as the Allie from her own timeline. Though the woman in front of her was not yet her mother, one could easily mistake her for the sister Eva had never gotten the chance to grow up with. How had she not noticed it before? From her red hair, to her green eyes, to the way she carried herself, she always thought Allie looked exactly like their mother; at times, after she found out the truth, she had even envied her for it.

"How come you never told…" _Me. How come you never told me? _"…anyone about her?" she ventured.

Needing no clarification, Emma stared at her for a moment until she eventually sighed and dropped her gaze. "Allie's father… he isn't a good man." She spoke slowly, as though the words were painful in her mouth. "He's violent and he's manipulative."

Subconsciously, she pulled the sleeve of her jacket down to her knuckles. Eva knew she had a large, spiderweb-like scar on the inside of that forearm, the result of what she had always been told was an accident on the ranch. Maybe not.

"When we were together there were a lot of things that he wouldn't let me do…a lot of decisions, certain precautions, that he wouldn't let me take." Her chest swelled as she took in a breath to steel herself. "It was only a matter of time before I ended up pregnant." She shook her head. "I never told him about the pregnancy and he never found out. Allie is our family's little secret and I don't tell anyone about her because I don't want her to know the truth."

Eva couldn't remember a time when her mother had ever been this honest, this open with her, and the irony of their current circumstance left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Why not?"

Emma's eyes locked onto hers. "As far as Allie is concerned, the arrangement we came up with makes her happy. But if Allie were to find out the truth and then get curious about her biological father, I'm afraid that she might try to find him. And if he were to find a way to weasel himself into her life or, God forbid, try to get some sort of custody over her…"

Suddenly it all made sense. The way her mother would flinch when men she didn't know would put their hands on her, no matter how innocuous the touch. The ease with which she was startled. The fact that she adamantly refused to ever watch Eva and her father spar together.

"You don't want him to hurt her like he hurt you."

"This way, he never will."

Eva furrowed her brow. "But you told Dad."

"Did I?' Emma looked mildly surprised by this piece of information. "Well, I suppose it's bad form to keep secrets from one's husband. And Ronon seems like the kind of person who could keep a secret," she said with a half-hearted attempt at humor.

Eva shifted her gaze to a point just over Emma's shoulder, looking back only once she felt the warmth of her mother's hand on her knee.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry you grew up with a lie. But when I decided that I couldn't be a mother to Allie, I knew it was my duty to at least ensure her safety and her happiness. And if that means keeping some secrets or making some sacrifices, then that's what I have to do."

The inflamed, pink-red gash across Emma's throat caught Eva's eye. "I think I understand."

She replied by giving her knee a gentle squeeze.

"You know," Eva began, "it didn't make much sense for you to give yourself up for me back on that ship."

"What? How can you say that?"

"I'm no expert in time travel, but I'm pretty sure that without you, there is no me," she explained.

"Well," Emma sighed, "Dr. McKay and I have been talking and, actually, that might not be true anymore."

Eva frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Rogers to the briefing room. Dr. Emma Rogers to the briefing room."

She hopped out of her seat in reaction to the page. "Shit! I completely forgot." Immediately stacking the photos on the table, shutting her computer, and grabbing a file folder, Emma hurried toward the door.

Eva pursued her into the hallway. "What did you mean that might not be true? What did you find out?"

"That's what we're supposed to be talking about at this meeting I'm late for. Once we're done, I'll let you know what's going on." With her belongings clutched in one hand, she turned and gave Eva a somewhat clumsy but firm hug.

"You promise?" Her voice was muffled by Emma's shoulder, but she heard her anyway.

As they pulled apart, Emma's red and weary eyes met her own. "I promise," she whispered. "We're gonna do everything we can to get you home."


	40. Realities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Woolsey calls a briefing meeting to discuss the possibility of a return trip to M5R-233. Differences in opinion lead to tension between those present.

"What do you mean other realities?" Sheppard said to McKay, sounding incredulous. "Lemme see that file."

The physicist obliged, sliding the folder across the long mahogany table toward Sheppard. It came to a halt just out of the colonel's reach, so Ronon intercepted it and passed it along the rest of the way.

"Whoa, Chewie. The hell happened to you?" He caught Ronon's wrist in his fingers and momentarily cast the folder aside.

Ronon obligingly turned his hand over, palm facing upward. "Oh, uh…Rogers bit me."

McKay's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. "She _what_?"

"Yeah," he said, absentmindedly scratching at his dreads while Sheppard inspected the purple-yellow bitemark. "I woke her up during the Wraith attack and she…didn't exactly like the way I did it."

"Jesus," Sheppard hissed, "you can see the teeth marks and everything. You should go to the infirmary and get that checked out." He released Ronon's wrist with a grimace.

"It's fine. Beckett's busy with more important stuff."

McKay looked unassumingly down at his briefing report. "You and Rogers certainly seem to be friendlier since this whole Eva thing started," he observed.

"You call this friendly?" Ronon shoved his bitten hand into McKay's view.

"All right. Friendly? No," McKay conceded. "Erotic, maybe."

"Shut up, McKay," Ronon growled, balling his bruised hand into a fist and hiding it under the table.

"I dunno…" Sheppard opened the file McKay had passed to him and hid his face behind it, "you two seemed pretty cozy together under that sleeping bag." He peered over the top of the folder, one eyebrow raised in insinuation.

So Sheppard had noticed, too; he thought only Teyla had seen them that first night on the planet.

"She was cold," Ronon snapped. "That was it."

McKay sighed wistfully. "If I had a nickel every time a woman used that excuse with me…"

"Then the talks about discontinuing the Canadian penny must really have you shaking in your boots," Sheppard finished for him.

"Hey!" McKay protested. "I'll have you know that at least two –"

"Two what, Doctor?"

The three men looked up to see Mr. Woolsey standing at the entrance of the briefing room, Teyla behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"At least two people are missing from our meeting but not to worry, you're here now so, uh…good," McKay said with an absurd clap of his hands. "I guess we can begin."

Ronon glanced conspiratorially over at Sheppard who rolled his eyes in response.

"I'm glad I have your permission, Dr. McKay," Woolsey said with an amused expression on his face. "But I see we're not all assembled?" He took his place at the head of the table and glanced at his watch. "Dr. Rogers has not arrived yet?"

"No, sir." Sheppard turned to Ronon once more. "Ronon, you happen to know where she is?"

"No," he replied, lip curled as he held back a scowl.

"It is most unlike her to be late," Teyla observed as she took an open seat across from Sheppard.

"Sergeant," Woolsey called to the technicians working nearby.

Chuck appeared at the door. "Yes, sir?"

"Page Dr. Rogers to the briefing room, will you?"

"Right away, sir."

"I am on a bit of a time crunch, so I suppose we'll have to start without her, then," Woolsey said, opening the brief Sheppard had placed in front of him.

The page for the linguist resounded over the city-wide intercom, but he continued speaking over it.

"Now, the topic of this meeting is to discuss the possibility of a return to M5R-233, the planet on which your team believes they located one of Janus' illicit laboratories."

"That's right, sir," Sheppard said.

"From what I gathered after reading your mission reports – by the way, Ronon, I have yet to receive yours."

"I'm uh…still working on it."

"Very well, then. From what I read, it seems likely that the temple Teyla, Ronon, and Dr. Rogers investigated is, in fact, the entrance to one such lab."

The memory of the few minutes he and Rogers had spent alone in that temple made him shift in his seat and for a moment, he was thankful she wasn't there. For now, he was the only person in the room who knew what had happened in there, who knew how close he had come to losing sight of the mission, to dropping his guard and yielding to a fleeting desire. If talking so openly about that place with everyone in the room made _him_ uneasy, he could only imagine how Rogers, who blushed wildly at even the faintest hint of embarrassment, might react.

"However, and correct me if I'm mistaken, it sounds like a return mission would be most imprudent. The planet's interference with Ancient technology makes navigating the terrain slow and laborious and, in turn, its disturbance with Ancient physiology puts the health and safety of anyone with the ATA gene at risk. I would say it's also fair to conclude that the locals are hostile to our presence, as it is likely they were the ones who informed the Wraith of your arrival on their world."

"If any of them are left," Teyla dismally said.

"Which brings me to my last and final argument: M5R-233 is a hotbed of Wraith activity. They know that the Ancient Janus now resides with us, and we can only assume that they will expect us to go back and investigate his lab."

"You think a return mission would essentially end in a trap?" Sheppard asked.

"I do."

The pneumatic system of the briefing room doors emitted a hiss and Dr. Rogers appeared on the other side, forcing her way through them before they could open all the way. "Sorry I'm late," she whispered as her eyes searched the room, eventually landing on the only seat available – one at the other end of the table, directly across from Mr. Woolsey.

Woolsey nodded toward her, then carried on. "I understand that Janus' current condition is not ideal –"

"No kidding," McKay muttered. "I'd hardly call a medically-induced coma ideal."

"But Dr. Beckett is hopeful that he will not remain in such a state indefinitely, after which time we might be able to simply ask the Ancient himself about his research rather than risk a trip to his lab on M5R-233."

McKay began speaking and Ronon maybe would have listened, had he not been so distracted by Rogers's appearance. Professional as usual, her uniform was pressed and clean, and her hair was tied back neatly into a low bun, but her skin was pale and dark shadows rimmed her eyes. He had heard McKay and Beckett mention that she had refused sleep in favor of staying at Janus' side throughout the majority of her time on the Alpha Site and, quite frankly, it showed. When was the last time she had slept, he wondered?

"This video footage we recovered gives us reason to believe that, thanks to Janus and his research, this particular Wraith's experiments go far beyond time manipulation to include experimentation with other realities, as well."

"Multiple realities?" Woolsey confirmed, his eyebrows piqued with interest. "You're sure?"

"I'll defer to Dr. Rogers on that one," McKay said. "She and Dr. Hirsch are the ones who deciphered the cataloguing system."

"Doctor?"

Rogers nodded. "We're sure. Each video file we viewed was labeled with a sort of Wraith time stamp. The first part of the time stamp begins with the term _realo__ş_ meaning 'reality…'"

Ronon flinched at the way she said the word. The "r" was deep and guttural, the "s" a long, snakelike hiss – a faithful mimicry of the way the Wraith spoke in their own tongue. He had heard her speak the language of the Ancestors before with its soft, mellifluous consonants and wide-open vowels, but to hear the language of the enemy uttered from her lips… it made his stomach turn.

"This was then followed by a letter of the Wraith alphabet, followed by a two-digit number – the meaning of which we're still debating – followed by a year according to the standard Wraith calendar."

"And _realo__ş _only has the one meaning – 'reality?' Unequivocally, it can't mean anything else?" Woolsey asked.

Rogers looked down at the table. "Even though _realo__ş _ends in what sounds like a plural "s" to us, it's actually a geminated "s" sound – almost like the German _Eszett_ – which holds separate significance in Wraith. _Realo__ş_ is therefore a singular, nominative noun which has only one meaning: 'reality.'"

"But?" Woolsey prodded.

Her eyes flicked up toward his. "But… there is another, similar word, which in the nominative singular is just _realo,_ but _realos_ – with a non-geminated 's' – in the plural ablative. This word means 'realm,' 'kingdom,' or 'domain.'"

"Or 'planet?'"

Rogers gave a non-committal shrug in response.

"So then you admit it yourself, your translation of this term appears to be inconclusive. This naming system could simply be their planetary cataloguing system, not unlike our own."

"I don't believe so," she said with a shake of her head. "In context, the singular nominative makes more sense than a plural ablative ever would. And the fact that the one "s" is geminated whereas the other –"

"You'll forgive me, Doctor, if I don't base my entire decision on a matter as trivial as noun declination."

"Dr. Hirsch agrees that my translation is the most –"

"New information aside…"

Upon the interruption, Rogers pressed her lips together and gave her head an irritated shake.

"I remain unconvinced. Colonel Sheppard," he turned toward him, "you must agree that there is still a significant risk of Wraith attack on this planet."

Sheppard tilted his head from side to side as he deliberated his answer. "We don't know for sure that Janus will actually wake up from the coma Beckett put him in. Now, from what I've heard, it doesn't sound like he's totally out of the woods yet, and if Janus doesn't make it, we lose our closest connection to his research. So…I think whatever we might find in the lab would be worth the risk, sir," he finally answered.

"That's not quite what I asked," Woolsey said with a small smirk.

"McKay, Rogers," Sheppard said, "you're the ones who have spent the most time working on this whole Janus issue. Do you think M5R-233 is compromised?"

Rogers and McKay looked at one another, silently conferring.

"It is…a distinct possibility," McKay eventually replied.

"So you two agree that the Wraith may know we will be on this planet sometime in the near future?" Woolsey confirmed.

"Yes," McKay answered with some reluctance.

Rogers nodded ever so slightly, then looked down into her lap.

"Then I can't, in good conscience, approve another mission there," Woolsey concluded.

"But –" McKay started.

"If a life or multiple lives were at stake and depended on whatever is housed in that laboratory, then perhaps it would justify the risk. But there is no life at stake here."

"Mr. Woolsey, with all due respect, there _are_ lives at stake. Has McKay shown you any of that video footage?" Rogers asked.

Ronon looked at her again and thought the shadows under her eyes were even more prominent than just minutes before.

"I admit I have not yet had the time to review the footage," Woolsey said, adjusting his glasses.

"Well I have." Her voice had begun to tremble with emotion. "And it's horrifying. This particular Wraith commander has been rounding up humans and raising them like cattle for centuries, treating each different reality like a separate experimental trial in order to find the best way to mass produce and optimize their food source."

"I agree; it's deplorable, but we have always known the Wraith to be deplorable creatures. If this has been happening for centuries, though, then waiting a few more days – or even weeks – until Janus can be safely awakened from the coma will not make much of a difference, will it?"

"What about Eva?" Ronon asked, tearing his gaze away from Rogers and over to Woolsey. He glanced back at Rogers to discover that her eyes, wide-eyed with gratitude, were already looking back.

"Eva is safe, healthy, and well cared for here and I will not put any of this operation's lives at risk for her," he definitively said.

"Sir, she's still a child," Rogers argued. "A child who needs her parents."

"Technically she has her parents here. They're in this very room," Woolsey argued.

"That is completely different," she said in a hushed tone.

"I fail to see how—"

"Fine," she barked, dropping her already tenuous grip of her professionalism. "Forget what Eva needs for a second and think about how much her parents need _her_. Can you even begin to imagine how worried, how distraught they must be that she's missing? We have a duty to return their only child to them."

"I can't help but agree," Teyla said.

"I'm sorry, but my decision is final," he glanced to Rogers and then over to McKay. "Until Janus wakes up, find another way." With that, he gave his folder three short taps on the table to straighten the papers inside and left the room.

Rogers shook her head and then let it fall.

"I guess I'll keep analyzing her tracking device," McKay sighed as he, too, stood up to leave.

Sheppard and Teyla soon followed until Ronon and Rogers were the only ones left. He pushed himself out of his chair and, as he walked behind her, laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She didn't move, didn't look back at him, didn't say anything.

After a brief instant, he left her in peace, but chanced one final look back at her before descending the staircase. She still sat alone in the briefing room, slouched over the long and empty table, her hand resting on her shoulder exactly where his had been only moments earlier.


	41. Just for the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late at night, Ronon receives an unexpected visitor.

He lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling, light from the solitary candle casting flickering shadows along the walls as a soft sea breeze wafted through an open window.

It was nearly one in the morning.

He should be asleep. Or at least trying. But the nightmares were always worse after a Wraith encounter and the past few nights had been no exception. He needed a distraction – something to replace his thoughts of dark hallways, dank cells, and feeding hands – but it was too late to find a sparring partner, too dark to go for a run along the pier, and the firing range was long closed for the night.

Eventually, if reluctantly, he resigned himself to yet another night of fitful sleep and bad dreams; but in the instant he closed his eyes, the chime at his door sounded. The sound was so bright, so cheerful, so completely incongruous with the rest of his nighttime surroundings, the effect on his nervous system was akin to flicking all of the lights in the room on at once. Wary as to the identity of this late-night intruder, he grabbed his blaster from the nightstand before cautiously making his way to the door. He ran his hand over the sensor and the door slid open, but upon seeing who was on the other side, he immediately dropped the weapon.

"Hey," he said, eyes squinted in confusion.

"Hi." She crossed her arms across herself, her gaze shifting first from his now lowered firearm, to his bare chest, and finally up to his eyes.

"What are you…" he shook his head, "what are you doing here? Why are you up so late?"

She looked to the side and brushed a few strands of red hair out of her face. "I…I can't sleep," she whispered. "I keep thinking about Janus and about Eva, and being aboard that Cruiser, and that damn video footage McKay showed me and I…it's like I can't get my brain to shut off."

"Uh huh." He knew the feeling. But it didn't explain why she was at his door.

"And it seems like no matter what I do, I just…I don't feel safe."

"Rogers, this is Atlantis. This is the safest place in the galaxy."

"I've tried everything, Ronon," she carried on as though he hadn't said anything. "I went for a run earlier to – to calm me down. I took a hot shower, I tried reading, I had a glass of wine…" She glanced to the side. "Okay, two glasses… I did some yoga…"

In other words, she had spent her evening naked, tipsy, and stretching. And now she was here. Great.

"I've tried everything I can think of and I just can't fall asleep."

"You go to the infirmary?" he asked. "They've got all kinds of stuff that'll knock you out."

"You know as well as I do that if I ask for any sort of sleeping pills, they'll pull me from active duty and require a psych eval. And I can't stop working…not with everything that's been going on."

He paused. "All right," he put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight from one leg to the other, "you can't sleep and you can't go to the infirmary. But why are you _here_?"

Her eyes flashed to his with an intensity that sent an electric jolt through his chest, but after a second, she diverted her gaze and ran a shaky hand through her hair. "Don't…don't make me say it, Ronon. You know why I'm here."

If he were being honest, he _didn't_ exactly know why she was there…though he had a guess. However, her baggy gray sweatpants and oversized, faded maroon sweatshirt weren't quite the appropriate attire for what he had in mind.

She slowly lifted her spectacled eyes, heavy with fatigue and ringed in dark shadows, up to his. Her expression was pleading, almost desperate, and he felt his dam of reservations starting crack.

He had asked for a distraction, hadn't he? This certainly qualified.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Does falling asleep at my desk count?" she asked with a feeble laugh.

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her. "You know it doesn't."

"Then, I guess," her eyes misted over with exhaustion, "it must have been that second night back on M5R-233."

Almost four days ago. The woman hadn't slept in nearly four days.

With a small nod, he stepped aside so she could enter his quarters. Whatever she needed, he was going to give it to her.

It took her a moment before she accepted his invitation, and once she crossed the threshold, she planted herself an awkward couple feet from the door. From that vantage point, she looked hesitantly about the room, fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Ronon ran his hand over the door sensor and it shut with a definitive hiss, enclosing the two of them together in palpable silence. What little light that had filtered into the room from the hallway was snuffed out, but even in the dim glow of the candle, he could clearly track her eyes as they darted from the door panel, to the fur pelts on the bed, to the open window, to the artwork on his walls, and back to the bed.

"Rogers," he started, suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat, "I still don't get why you're here. Are you here to…?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, did you come here because you wanted to have –"

Her eyes widened and locked onto his. "No," she said with haste, vigorously shaking her head. "No. Oh God, that is what this looks like, isn't it?" She brought a hand to her mouth.

Ronon tilted his head to the side and shrugged.

"No," she shook her head once more.

"Then what's going on?"

Her hand fell to her side, but she hesitated. "I think I'm having trouble sleeping… because," she took a long, deep breath, "because I'm alone. And I just…I need to know someone else is sleeping near me."

Ronon raised both of his eyebrows at her.

"And well, because we shared that sleeping bag a few nights ago, you were the first, really the only person I thought of." Her chin trembled and he could see the force of sheer exhaustion tearing down her walls.

"The first?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted his tone – dubious, accusatory, maybe even envious of a certain Corporal who acted like the woman in front of him was his.

"Okay, maybe not the first," she admitted.

He knew it. Clenching his teeth, he fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall behind her.

"I went to my friend's before this to see if I could sleep on her couch."

_Her_ couch? The muscles in his jaw and back relaxed, almost of their own accord, as he returned his eyes to hers.

"Lacey Peters, the botanist, but she uh…she had company over and before I really realized where I was going, I was here." She glanced at the floor and swallowed hard. "Ronon, you're the only person on base that I've slept with…platonically or otherwise. And Lord knows why, but I trust you."

"You trust me?" he countered, still unable to control his tone but regretting it all the same. "I saw the way you looked at me when I woke you up during the Wraith assault."

She pursed her lips together and stared at him.

"I've never seen anyone look _relieved_ to hear the Wraith were attacking."

"Well you try waking up in the middle of a dark forest, disoriented, with a large man pressed on top of you with his hand covering your mouth and see what kind of conclusions _you_ jump to!" she hissed. "If you had just called my name or shaken me awake, I wouldn't have screamed; I wouldn't have revealed our position." Her voice thickened. "Not if I had known it was you." She pulled the collar of her sweatshirt up to her eye and angled her face away from him, thereby revealing a dark, thumb-sized bruise on the side of her jaw.

And all of a sudden it was like he had been punched in the gut. Consumed by the heat of the moment and the impending Wraith attack, he had been rough with her – too rough – and yet, for whatever reason, she had come to him tonight anyway. Now, fueled by a wounded sense of honor and, if he were being perfectly frank, not an insignificant amount of sexual frustration, he was lashing out at her. She didn't deserve that.

He finally nodded to her, then headed toward the center of the room to look for a shirt to put on. As he slipped the collar over his head, he glanced back at her to see that she was still standing near the door.

"Most people sleep on beds," he said, rolling the hem of the fabric down over his chest and stomach, before lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress.

"Your bed is bigger than mine," she finally said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"Yeah." He stretched his legs out to their full length and crossed one ankle over the other. "Well. I'm a bit bigger than you."

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. "What, um…what side do you normally sleep on?"

"The middle."

"I see," she breathed. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come." She turned to leave. "It's not fair to ask you to do this for me."

"I'll sleep closer to the door," he offered, interrupting her before she could swipe her hand over the sensor. "You take the side by the window."

Her hand hovered in midair as she debated her options, but when she turned and saw that he had gotten to his feet – something he hadn't even realized he had done – she gave him a small nod and tentatively approached the bed. Without another word, they found their spots on opposite sides of the mattress and Ronon leaned toward the nightstand to pinch out the candle. She slipped under the bedclothes and he watched curiously from over his shoulder as she pushed all of her hair to one side of her neck and began deftly twisting it into a long braid. Within seconds she was done.

Before she lay down, she tugged her sweatshirt over her head, tucked her glasses into the front pocket, and set it in a folded pile at the foot of the bed where there was still a little bit of room; her feet didn't reach the edge like his did. Then, just like she had done on the dirt ground of M5R-233, she lay on her side facing the window and with her back toward him. Ronon, however, hesitated in joining her. Having a beautiful woman in his bed, so close, he could already feel his body reacting to her presence; but this time, they didn't have layers of sleeping bag between them. And although his bed was larger than the average Atlantis cot, it wasn't exactly roomy.

With some strategic rearrangement of the fur pelts, he got into a comfortable enough position on his back and flexed his thighs as hard as he could in an attempt to redirect the flow of blood in his lower extremities. The traitorous bed creaked under his shifting weight and, with a surreptitious glance toward his new companion, he hoped the dull roar of the ocean outside was strong enough to cover the sound.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. "I should apologize."

Rogers rolled onto her back and looked into his face. "For what?"

"For giving you this." He reached out and lightly brushed the bruise on her jaw with the knuckle of his index finger, before bringing his hand to rest under his head. "For scaring you then…and for giving you a hard time about it just now."

"It's okay," she said with a forgiving shake of the head and a shrug. "We were in a stressful situation and…you didn't want anyone to get hurt." The small smile on her face blossomed to a full-blown grin.

"What?" Ronon asked as a smile tugged at the corners of his own mouth.

"I'm sorry I bit you," she said, trying to stifle a giggle.

He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I deserved it."

After a few adjustments to the pillows and covers, they shared in a whispered goodnight, and settled into their respective sides of the bed. For a long time, they lay as they were, untouching, on their backs and side to side like soldiers in formation. Ronon once again stared at the moonlit ceiling and found himself listening to Emma's breathing, slow and steady like the night waves outside his open window, a sure sign that she had finally, thankfully surrendered to fatigue.

The minutes passed, and as the temperature in the room dropped, human instinct overcame social boundary. Emma turned onto her side and, likely seeking the closest source of warmth, rested her head on his chest. Careful not to wake her, he shifted his arm from under his head, wrapped it around her back, and drew her closer; and for the second night in the short span of a week, he allowed himself to enjoy holding a woman against him. The scents of smoke, wax, and sea salt, now joined with lavender, mingled together into an aroma that smelled seductively of sleep. He breathed it in deeply, closed his eyes and as peaceful slumber began to steal him away, he heard her speak.

"Just for tonight," she whispered, her breath dancing across his chest. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I freakin' love this chapter (if I do say so myself). I hope you liked it, too.


	42. Coffee Counts as Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Emma tries to avoid Ronon, but manages to cross paths with him anyway. Ronon, in turn, is found by Eva who doesn't like the news he and Sheppard have to deliver.

He awoke with a start, pressing his eyelids shut to block out the early rays of sun that reflected harshly off the morning ocean and into his bedroom. Had he heard something…or felt something?

_It was probably just Rogers_, a faint voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

As memories of the night before rushed back to him, he sat upright in his bed and cast a glance to the other side. But she wasn't there.

Slowly, he lay back onto the pillow, let out a deep sigh, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he pieced the previous night together. As soon as he had begun to convince himself that it had all been a dream, he caught a distinct whiff of lavender emanating from the sheets. Stretching a hand out to feel the spot where she had lain, he found that it was still warm, making him wonder just how long ago she had left.

* * *

Skipping breakfast earlier that morning had perhaps not been the best idea. But at the time, she hadn't been hungry and she did have a lot of work to catch up on, after all. Her decision had been in no way motivated by a fear that she would run into a certain Satedan who tended to haunt the commissary…whose bed she had shared the night before, whose arms had held her the entire night, whose mere but solid presence made her at last feel safe. No. It was definitely the work. Besides, coffee counted as breakfast, didn't it?

Her stomach growled its protest but she drowned it out with a long sip from her mug.

"Hey!"

Emma jumped in her seat, sloshing a bit of hot coffee onto the desk. "Alan! Christ! You scared me." She reached for the nearest box of tissues and began mopping up the mess.

"Sorry about that," her colleague said. "I just ran into Dr. McKay; he wanted me to give these to you."

The tissues landed with a soggy splat at the bottom of the trashcan and she wiped her hands on her pants before taking the folder.

"What are they?"

"They're readouts from Eva's tracking device." He passed them to her.

"More of them?" she asked incredulously. "We haven't even made it through the first batch."

"There was a lot of data, I guess."

"All right," she sighed as she opened the folder, flipping through page after page of Wraith text.

Rather than head to his side of the lab, Alan lingered at the edge of her desk and tilted his head as he looked at her. "You feeling better?"

"Hm?" She glanced up at him, but quickly returned her gaze to the endless lines of Wraith in front of her. "Oh, yeah. I uh…finally got some sleep last night."

"Sleep," he nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Sure."

She snapped the folder closed and set it on the desk, sat up straight and looked him square in the eyes. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "Just that I heard one of the guys saying he saw you heading back to your quarters pretty early this morning…out of uniform."

"One of the guys?" She primly folded her hands in her lap. "Since when are you 'one of the guys,' Alan?"

He walked away and took a seat at his desk across the room. "Hey, I just thought you'd want to know what other people are saying about you."

"And what exactly are they saying, Alan?" she barked. His mockery of her, disguised as concern for her reputation, was trying her patience.

Alan had the decency to look at least a little abashed. "A few things that I know better than to repeat. But…if you're curious, it was Captain Hanson who had the most to say about the matter."

Despite the hot beverage she had been nursing, a chill ran up her spine. "Well, you know Captain Hanson. That man shoots off his mouth so much he must eat bullets for breakfast," she said, irritated. "I wouldn't believe a damn thing he says about me."

"Who eats bullets for breakfast?"

Emma turned her head so quickly to the source of the new voice, she made herself dizzy. With a hand on his hip and smirk on his face stood Sheppard at the entrance of the lab; but it wasn't the colonel's unexpected appearance that caused her stomach to do a backflip. It was that he hadn't come alone – her bedfellow from the night before was right at his side.

The mere sight of him made her instantly recall how she had woken up in his arms, head tucked under his chin, leg resting over his own, the fabric of his shirt balled tightly in her hand. She hadn't remembered falling asleep like that; in fact, she was quite sure their bodies weren't even touching when she had finally closed her eyes. But this morning, she had awakened to find herself utterly tangled up in him. It had taken her over a minute to carefully extricate herself without waking him up.

"No one," she stammered with a quick shake of her head. "Can I help you, Colonel?"

He gestured over to Ronon whose gaze flitted aimlessly about the lab as he avoided any and all eye contact with Emma. "We were on our way to breakfast, but first wanted to swing by and make sure you had gotten the next set of data from Eva's tracker. It would have come from McKay."

Emma held up the folder in question. "Got it right here."

"Good," he nodded. "Woolsey says those are Priority Alpha; they take precedence over anything else you might be working on."

She picked up the nearest pen and drew an α on the outside of the manila folder. "Then we'll get started on them right away," she smiled.

With Ronon in tow, Sheppard made moves to leave, but after only three short steps, turned back around and centered his gaze on Emma. "There something different about you, Rogers?"

"That's what I said!" Alan chimed in.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Did she really look that different this morning? "No. I don't think so."

"You sure about that?"

"Just well rested, Colonel. It's been a rough week and I…I finally got some sleep last night," she confessed. "That's all."

Ronon's eyes finally met hers and her heart skipped a beat. She saw the faintest flush of color reach his cheeks, but he bowed his head to hide it from the others. Meanwhile, she could tell that her own face was on fire.

"Yeah…that must be it," Sheppard said, leaving with a wink.

* * *

"You think someone finally got lucky with her?" Sheppard asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the linguistics lab.

Ronon simply grunted in reply, trying to keep his thoughts focused on the route to the commissary. He found that the promise of breakfast quelled the uneasy feeling in his stomach that he tried to tell himself was hunger-related and nothing else.

"Wait a minute…"

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder to see that Sheppard had fallen a few paces behind.

"She wasn't with you last night, was she?"

Ronon crossed his arms across his chest. "You think I screwed Rogers?"

Sheppard narrowed his eyes and gave him a scrutinizing look. "No," he decided, "you're right. You'd be less grumpy if you had."

Afraid that he might reveal something if he said any more, a grunt was once again the only response Ronon could think to give as they fell back into step with one another. He had to admit, though, Sheppard's assessment wasn't entirely inaccurate. Spending the night with her had been nice, he wouldn't lie; but the chasteness of it all had left him feeling as tightly drawn as a bowstring. Or maybe he was simply hungry.

"I wonder who it was…"

"Maybe she just slept well," Ronon said, a bit too quickly, "like she said."

"If that's true, then I gotta find out what kind of miracle mattress she's sleepin' on because –"

"Hey! Wait up!"

Ronon felt his stomach slingshot into his throat as he heard her voice. How much of their conversation had she heard? Somewhat ashamed of the crudeness with which they had both spoken about her, he turned to face her, prepared to apologize if need be. 

Unanticipated relief coursed through his veins like a drug when he realized that it hadn't been Rogers to call out to them, but Eva. Ancestors, did the girl sound like her mother.

"When are we gonna go back to that planet?" she asked without pretense or pleasantries, craning her neck back to see their faces.

Ronon and Sheppard exchanged a glance.

"You're talking about M5R-233?" Sheppard clarified.

She nodded eagerly.

"Look, I don't know how to tell you this, kid, but…Woolsey has temporarily denied our request to return."

"What? Why?"

"He thinks it might be a Wraith trap," Sheppard explained.

"But…but what about what Emma discovered? About the other realities? I might not even be from this reality, let alone this time period, and that lab is the key to getting me back home!"

"I wish I had better news for you Eva, but for the time being, those are our orders."

"But you're the ranking military officer here, aren't you? Can't you convince him to change his mind?"

"We're doing everything we can," Sheppard said, trying to soothe her. "Rogers and McKay are studying your tracking device as we speak to see if they can reverse engineer something that will take you back home."

"McKay has been studying that damn thing for weeks! So far the only thing he's figured out is how to access its black box."

"I know that Rodney's methods…at times…leave something to be desired. But don't forget, we've got Janus under our roof, too. Couple more weeks and Beckett says he'll be out of that coma. If that's the case, we may not even need to go back to his lab – we'll have the legend himself figure something out."

"Have you seen Janus lately?" She gestured vaguely toward the direction of the infirmary. "Because I have and I'm sorry, but he looks like crap. I'm not buying Beckett's 'couple more weeks' prognosis."

"You're just gonna have to have hope and a little bit of patience, Eva."

"This is bullshit," she muttered, turning her back to them and storming off.

"Hey!" Ronon scolded, speaking for the first time. "You get back here. That is not how you speak to a military officer."

She spun on the spot and marched back, glaring first at Ronon, then turning her attention to Sheppard. "This is bullshit, _sir_."

"Eva!" Ronon called after her as she walked away. "Eva!" With a growl, he started to go after her but Sheppard placed a hand on his arm and stopped him.

"It's fine," he said. "Let her go."

Ronon shook his head and shoved his hands through his hair.

"I get it. She just wants to go home," Sheppard said. "Let it go."

He let his hands fall limp at his sides. "Let's go eat," he sighed.

"Great idea."

The two walked in companionable silence for a few moments until Sheppard spoke again.

"Hey Chewie…"

"What?"

"Maybe it's a good thing you and Rogers didn't do it last night."


	43. The Key and Scepter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and her linguistics partner make a discovery. Eva decides to eavesdrop.

She pushed the tracker readouts to the edge of her desk. They had been at it for several hours now and all of this technical Wraith jargon was making her cross eyed. Her head fell limp and met the top of her back, the tiny bones in her neck making little popping sounds as they realigned themselves. Staring at the ceiling, she puffed her cheeks out and exhaled loudly.

After a few seconds, she straightened her neck and cast a surreptitious glance toward Alan before reaching for the thick stack of photos she had stashed under her Wraith lexicon. One by one, she went through them in an attempt to refresh her memory of the Temple of the Portunos on M5R-233. The first few depicted the exterior of the temple with its tall Roman arches and perfectly equal sides, perhaps of archaeological interest, but not linguistically significant. She flipped through them more quickly until Ronon's appearance in one of the photos, posed under a center arch, sent an unexpected jolt through her heart.

God, he was tall, wasn't he? Massive. Long legs, long arms, long torso… Maybe that was why she had woken up the way she had that morning. He took up so much room in the bed that sleeping on his chest had been unavoidable. It was either get cozy or fall off the edge.

A quiet cough from Alan's side of the lab stirred her from her thoughts; she convulsively forced the photo of Ronon to the bottom of the stack and carried on browsing through the rest, ignoring the heat on her cheeks. The next handful included shots of the grand statue of the Portunos and of the plaque at its feet. Emma laughed softly to herself as she mentally compared the statue to its real-life likeness. Bearded, muscular, and formidable, the effigy definitely shared more in common with someone like Ronon than it did with the gangly, comatose Ancient in the infirmary. Janus must have thought rather highly of himself at the time.

She placed a photo of the statue next to the closeup of the plaque and her concentration volleyed from the key in one stone hand, to the long cane in the other, and back again.

"_Tempus fugit. Ottionam vostram facete_," she read aloud.

"How you doin' over there, Emma?" Alan's eyes stayed fixed on his own work as he spoke. "Can I get you anything? Holy water? Crucifix? Donut?"

"Very funny," she replied. "You should know by now that I only perform exorcisms on Sundays…and that I much prefer croissants to donuts."

"I'll make sure to let my inner demons know." He peered over his glasses at the notebook in front of him, scribbled something down, and capped his pen with a definitive click. "My brain is soup," he groaned. "Wraith alphabet soup."

"I know the feeling."

Getting up from his desk, he stretched dramatically and headed toward the coffee pot.

"Inner demons need a fix?" she joked.

"Always." He lifted the pot in her direction. "You want any more?"

"No, thanks." She paused. "Actually…would you mind taking a look at something for me?"

"Mm," he agreed, taking a sip from his mug and walking to her desk.

She held up the two photographs in question for him to see.

Alan pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted at them. "These don't look like the data from Eva's tracking device." His tone was lightly admonitive, but he took them from her nonetheless.

"And you would be correct. They're photographs of the temple on M5R-233."

He took a long, loud slurp of his coffee. "I thought Woolsey didn't want us looking into that temple anymore."

Emma pressed on in spite of his protests. "How's your knowledge of Roman mythology?"

"Decent," he replied, still surveying the image. "Why?"

"That statue. What does it look like to you?"

He sighed. "It's a two-headed man. Not unlike the typical depiction of Janus in Roman culture."

"Look in his hands," she urged. "Look at what he's holding."

Alan squinted and brought the paper closer to his face. "A key and a cane...a scepter, maybe?"

"That's what I thought, too," she agreed. "Now look at the inscription underneath."

"Make your choice..." he paused. "Time flies? Time is fleeting?" He looked to Emma for confirmation.

She nodded eagerly. "That's what I got, too. I know this is the entrance to his lab. It has to be."

"And you think that choosing – whatever that means – either the scepter or the key will grant you access to it?"

"Why else would there be a temple dedicated to Janus on that particular planet? Why would you need to make a choice if that choice didn't have some sort of reward?"

"Maybe it's metaphorical."

"Or maybe it's just the simple choice between the key or the cane and boom – open sesame."

"It's the key, then," Alan stated. "Obviously. Janus was the god of doors, keys open doors."

Emma couldn't stop the smile forming on her lips. "Funny. That's what Ronon thought, too."

"So that's two votes for the key – one from me and one from your baby daddy." He dropped the photos on her desk and turned to go back to his work. "Case closed. Now back to our Wraith data."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek and clicked her pen, staring at the picture. "Hand me that Ancient lexicon."

"No. No, no, no. I am not going to get involved with this distraction of yours. These," he held up his half of the tracker data, "are our first priority. Woolsey made it very clear that everything else takes a backseat."

"Oh, just hand me the damn book," Emma said with an eyeroll. "It's not like I'm asking you to smuggle drugs across the border."

Shoulders slumped in protest, Alan handed her the heavy, layman bound book and made sure to add a reproachful glower for good measure along with it.

She flipped to the "K" section of the English side. "Write these on the board."

"Nope." He held up his hands. "I might be an accessory to this, but I will not be an accomplice."

"Come on! You really wanna translate electrical input and output fluctuations for the rest of the day?"

He let out a quiet growl of frustration. "No."

"Then indulge me for the next few minutes. It won't take that long."

He dragged his feet to the whiteboard and uncapped a dry-erase marker. "Go ahead," he sighed.

"_Clavia_..._clavistrum_..._claustrum_..._clovistra_...and _cardo_."

"Key," Alan observed.

"Every instance of the word 'key' that we've ever come across in Ancient." She flipped to the "S" section of the book. "Okay, now copy these down, please."

"Ready."

"_Sceptrum_," she tilted her head to the side, "makes sense... _baculus_, _birga_, _hastile_." She stood from her chair and made her way to Alan's side. They both stared at the board for a moment.

A whisper from Alan eventually broke the silence. "What are we looking for here?"

"No clue," she whispered back.

He took the lexicon from her hands. "Well, I think we can probably eliminate some of the more obscure terms. _Cardo_, for instance...looks like it can mean 'key,' but in more instances than not, it tends to mean 'lock.'" He flipped a few pages. "Same with _hastile_. It usually means 'walking stick' rather than 'scepter' or 'cane.'"

Emma nodded in agreement. "You're right. We'll eliminate them for now."

They erased the extraneous words and, once more, stared at the board occasionally squinting and tilting their heads to make sense of the terms littered across it.

"Let's decline them," Emma suggested.

"You got it, boss."

She approached the board, picked up a marker, and began working on the right half of the board while Alan got to work on the left. Recapping her marker, she took a step back, looking for any patterns.

Alan picked up the photograph from her desk and studied it for a second time, muttering under his breath. "_Tempus fugit. Ottionam vostram facete_."

"_Tempus_…" Emma yanked the cap off her marker so quickly it fell out of her fingers and rolled across the floor as she began to slash through characters on the board.

"What are you doing?"

"Crossing out all of the letters in the word _tempus_ from every one of the words on the board," she explained, already crossing out the U and S characters in _baculus_.

"Wait a minute." Alan's eyes quickly widened. "_Sceptrum_."

"I know," she said, turning to him with excitement. She tapped on her earpiece. "This is Dr. Rogers, can I get McKay to come to the linguistics lab?"

* * *

At first, Eva had tried to find a table farther away from the one McKay was sharing with a small, redheaded woman who likely belonged to the botany department, judging by the slight smudge of dirt across her cheek. But it was the height of the lunch hour and choice of tables was limited, so she set her tray down and hoped he would be too distracted either by his meal or his company to notice her.

"I've actually never been able to keep a plant alive," McKay said through a mouthful of spaghetti. "Always forget about 'em until they end up dry and withered. I once even managed to kill a cactus. How does somebody do that, huh? Aren't they supposed to be almost unkillable?"

Oh God. Was McKay on a date?

"Plants are really just like humans," the woman said in a high, sweet voice. "With a little bit of attention and a little bit of love, you'd be surprised by how much they flourish."

It was like watching a car accident. Morbid, but you can't quite bring yourself to look away.

"Don't forget fertilizer," Rodney quipped. "Though that's more for the plants than for the humans, isn't it?"

No, McKay! Don't talk about shit on a date!

"You shouldn't feel too bad about killing that cactus." The woman laid her hand over McKay's and his eyes widened in surprise. "They require more care than you'd think."

Eva put down her forkful of pasta. Her appetite had suddenly disappeared.

"Yes, well," McKay cleared his throat, "maybe I should come down to the botany lab sometime…learn a few of your tips and tricks?"

"I'd like that," the woman smiled as she straightened in her chair. "How's the spaghetti?"

"Edible, I guess. Bit of a weird aftertaste, though."

"But the sauce? The sauce is good, isn't it?"

"I think that might be the root of the problem. Tastes like they used rotten tomatoes…"

A strained expression appeared on the woman's face.

"What? What is it?" McKay asked, a look of concern falling across his features. "Bad reaction to the rancid tomato sauce?"

"Those were the first batch of tomatoes grown here…in – in the botany lab," she admitted.

Eva brought a hand to her forehead and watched their interaction from between her fingers. This was painful. Actually, physically painful.

"Oh. That's – that's not what I meant. What I meant was –" McKay stopped mid-thought, distracted. "What do you mean the linguistics lab?"

Eva's ears perked up.

"No," he turned to the side and pressed his finger to his earpiece. "You two can come meet me in the physics lab. I am not schlepping it all the way to the linguistics lab just to hear another theory of yours."

Another theory? Regarding a joint project between linguistics and physics? It had to be related to her tracker. Maybe they had found something! She tried to lean closer without being obvious.

"Rodney?" his date asked.

"Yeah. Just one second." He lifted a finger to her. "No, I am not – yes, your last theory ended up being correct. And the one before – Fine. I'll be there in five minutes. But this better be good."

"What was that all about?" The woman watched as Rodney began cleaning up his meal.

"I'm sorry, Katie," he said, standing up. "I have to go. Rogers and Hirsch need me in the linguistics lab."

"But we haven't finished our lunch."

"Like I said, I'm really sorry. They said it was urgent."

Katie pursed her lips together and nodded. "I see. Good bye, Rodney."

McKay made moves to leave, but thought better of it and turned around to face Katie again. "I meant it when I said that I'd want to come visit you in your lab sometime. Say, Friday?"

The woman's face lit up with cautious optimism. "I'm free on Friday."

"Good," McKay nodded. "Good. Maybe I can even try one of those tomatoes…but fresh off the vine…before the cooks have a chance to mess them up."

Even Eva had to admit that it was a good save.

"I'll save you the best ones," she smiled.

McKay smiled back. "Friday, then."

"Friday."

Eva watched as he dropped his tray off in the bussing area and vanished down the long hallway. So as not to attract suspicion, she waited a few minutes before doing the same. With a last glance back at Katie, who now seemed more than content to sit and finish her lunch alone, she hung a right out of the commissary, hopped into the nearest transporter, and touched the image of the South Pier. Something was going on and she intended to find out what.

* * *

Avoiding detection had been easy. Years of playing hide and seek in the vast city meant that she knew every column she could duck behind, every nook she could slip into should McKay have suspected he was being followed. And since she already knew his final destination, there was no need to track him at close range.

With quiet, cautious steps, she approached the linguistics lab. Several voices from inside carried into the hallway.

"They're very powerful birds, actually. In flight, they can reach speeds of up to 160 kilometers per hour for extended periods of time."

So McKay must have picked up Zelenka somewhere along the way.

"It's their breasts."

"Their what now?" Dr. Hirsch asked.

"They have massive breast muscles which can account for nearly one third of their body weight. Larger muscles mean greater flight power."

"Well that one on your screen there is very…cute," Emma said.

"Look, are we gonna talk about what you found in those tracker readouts or are we gonna talk about pigeons?" McKay asked. "Because I just put a very romantic lunch date with Katie Brown on hold so that I could be here."

Eva had to fight to stifle a snort and not reveal her location. This talk of pigeons was about as romantic as their "date" had been.

"We asked you to be here because we think we've got a lead on Janus's lab," Emma said.

Curiosity piqued, Eva got as close to the door of the lab as she dared and peeked in.

McKay had his arms crossed and was looking dubiously at an Ancient-filled whiteboard. "I thought we weren't pursuing that anymore."

"It was something we discovered in our…" Hirsch glanced at Emma, "free time."

"Free time?" McKay repeated.

"Let's say it was something that came up during our lunch break," Emma shrugged.

Zelenka pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "But I thought Woolsey said –"

"Forget about Woolsey for a second," Emma said. "Just for a second. We really think we're onto something."

McKay took a step toward the whiteboard and gestured at it. "I assume it has something to do with these chicken scratches? Care to share with the class?"

Emma crossed the lab in a few paces and grabbed the pictures of the statue and the inscription underneath. She gave one to McKay and one to Zelenka. Eva wished that she, too, could take a look, but she didn't dare get any closer.

"This is the interior of the temple on M5R-233," she explained. "I think we can safely assume the large statue in the center represents the Portunos – or Janus."

"What is he holding?" Zelenka asked as he looked up from the photo.

"A key in one hand, a scepter in the other. And if you look at the inscription underneath, there's a set of directions."

"Almost like a riddle," Hirsch added.

"What does it say?" Zelenka asked.

Emma answered. "'Make your choice, time flies.'"

"Or 'time is fleeting.'"

"We assume the inscription refers to the choice between the key and the cane."

"And if you pull the secret lever, then some secret doorway will open?" McKay mocked.

"That's the thought," Emma replied. "Anyway, we amassed every Ancient term for both key and scepter and... this is what we came up with." She gestured to the jumble of words on the whiteboard.

Eva recognized a few of the hastily scribbled declinations and thought, a bit obtusely, that the board looked somewhat like past Ancient homework assignments she had thrown together minutes before turning them in.

"The chicken scratches," McKay supplied.

Emma ignored him. "The lab is supposedly dedicated to the research of time travel, right?"

McKay and Zelenka nodded.

"Well, we tried seeing which words, if any, shared the same characters as the word _tempus_."

"This whole _tempus_ thing again?" McKay rolled his eyes.

"Hey!" she said defensively. "It worked the first time."

McKay shrugged. "Lightning doesn't strike twice."

"Actually," Zelenka interrupted, "it does. Multiple observations of the Empire State Building have shown –"

"It's a figure of speech!"

"Focus, y'all," she scolded. "It turns out that there is precisely one word out of all of these," she gestured to the board, "that in every single case contains all of the letters within the word _tempus_: _sceptrum_."

"So you think it's the scepter," Zelenka supplied. "The scepter will grant you entrance into the lab?"

"Yes," Emma and Hirsch both replied.

"But there are still characters left over," McKay observed.

"Right," Emma nodded. "The C and R characters. Does that mean anything to you?" she asked the two physicists.

"Crown Royal," McKay suggested.

"Czech Republic," Zelenka smiled.

Emma smiled back at him. "True. Thought I doubt that's it."

McKay narrowed his eyes and was quiet for a moment before eventually speaking. "Chromium."

"Chromium?" Hirsch repeated. "Is that...a metal?"

"It's one of the elements," he confirmed. "It's found in certain foods, computer circuit boards, a variety of gemstones, Canadian nickels..."

Emma grabbed the photos again and squinted hard, trying to see the details of the key and scepter. "You said gemstones?"

"That's right. And Canadian nickels."

"What kind of gemstones?"

"Take your pick." McKay shook his head. "Rubies, emeralds, jade, tourmaline, topaz…"

Hirsch turned to Emma. "My knowledge of scepters is fairly limited, but don't they usually have a bauble or something at the end?"

The image of an amulet, swinging across her field of vision as she lay strapped to a table flashed in Eva's mind. The center stone was dark red, the color of the blood trickling down her arm as the tracker was inserted into her back, its gold chain adorning the neck of none other than Janus himself.


	44. Catch More Flies with Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva tries to break into McKay's lab but things don't quite go as planned. 
> 
> CW for a flirtation between an adult and a teenager (though the adult doesn't realize she's a teenager...)

McKay's lab. Janus' personal belongings had to be in McKay's lab. She had visited the comatose Ancient in the infirmary just the day before, and noticed that nothing had been allowed to remain with him. What had happened to his more innocuous belongings, like his clothes and shoes, she didn't know. What she did know, however, was that Dr. McKay had been tasked with making sure that nothing he possessed at the time of their escape could transmit his location to the Wraith. That meant somewhere in McKay's lab lay the key to her return home.

She wondered if McKay even remembered the amulet. Thinking it just a vain extravagance, he probably gave it a quick once over to make sure it would cause no harm before casting it aside in favor of the no doubt countless more interesting gadgets Janus had carried on his person. But McKay wasn't a stupid man. Chances were, the mention of gemstones, sooner or later would jog his memory and lead him to the amulet likely still sitting on his desk. And then what? Knowing he had the answer to their problems in his possession, would he tell Emma? Or would he tell Woolsey? If he told Woolsey…would that sway his opinion about the risk and reward of a return mission to M5R-233, or would he try to confiscate the gem – simply remove the temptation – in an all-out effort to discourage them from going back there?

Standing alone inside the transporter, she weighed her options. McKay and Emma were colleagues, they worked well together, they even got along with each other whenever McKay was in a decent mood. But Woolsey was McKay's superior and under his direct orders to prioritize Eva's tracker above anything else. While McKay had his moments of insubordination, they were usually borne out of desperation. In this circumstance, though, Eva was the one who was desperate to go back home – not McKay. The odds were stacked in Woolsey's favor.

Eva glanced at the transporter screen and tapped the East Pier. To McKay's lab she would go.

* * *

She whipped around the corner toward the lab, but backtracked almost as quickly once she saw what was on the other side. Usually, if McKay or one of his assistants were in his lab, the doors were left open. But if no one was there, then the doors were often closed, accessible only to those who had a badge. She knew that running into a locked door would be a potential obstacle; what she hadn't expected was a guard to be standing there. What now?

As her heartrate returned to normal, the realization that the guard's presence might actually be a blessing in disguise slowly dawned on her. She poked her head around the corner again. He was a young marine, maybe a couple years over twenty, and probably new to the expedition. He was only lightly armed and, dangling from his belt in plain sight, was his access card. If she took him by surprise, she could probably get the drop on him and steal his badge.

But then what would she do with an unconscious marine in one of the busier areas of the city? What if he shouted or struggled? Someone would definitely see or hear them. There had to be an easier way.

Thinking quickly, she removed her jacket and hastily tossed it behind a potted plant. In an effort to look more professional, she took out both of her nose rings and shoved them into her pocket. She then removed the necklace her father had given her and balled it up in her fist. Lowering the zipper on the front of her shirt as a final touch, she rounded the corner and strode past the guard, pretending to be in a hurry. As she passed him, she let the necklace fall from her hand and onto the floor.

After a few short paces, the guard called out to her. "Ma'am?"

She smirked before turning around. Hook, line, and sinker.

"Yes, Captain?" she replied with a smile.

"It's uh…it's actually just Lieutenant."

"Really?" she asked with a frown. "I could have sworn you were Captain," she took a quick glance at his lapel, "Williams."

He shook his head and tried to hide a sheepish smile. "No ma'am. Lieutenant Williams."

"How can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"You uh, you dropped this." He extended his arm, necklace in hand.

She gasped, eyes wide. "I did? Oh my goodness." Her fingers lightly grazed his palm as she took it from him. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost this."

He loosened his militaristic stance, stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and lifted the corner of his mouth in a half smile. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

She shrugged one of her shoulders and looked up at him from under heavy eyelashes. "I've only been here a couple weeks."

"Me too." He furrowed his brows with suspicion, causing her heart to skip.

"I...I know. Don't you remember?"

His eyes widened. "Remember what?"

"We were part of the same cohort that came through at the end of last month." She shook her head and cast a glance to the ground. "I can't say I'm surprised you don't recognize me, though. You men in uniform don't tend to remember people like me."

The features on his face softened from surprise to pity. "What do you mean people like you?"

"Oh, you know…us non-military people. Techs, scientists," she shrugged. "I'm one of Dr. McKay's new assistants." She gestured toward the lab to prove her point.

"Well, I definitely won't be forgetting you after today…" He waited for her to supply her name.

"Eva."

"Eva," he repeated.

There was a moment of awkward silence, which Eva filled by intentionally fumbling with the chain of her necklace as she struggled to fasten it around her neck. "Damn thing," she muttered. "Do you mind?" She held the two ends of the necklace out to him.

He emitted an audible gulp. "No," he said, voice strained. "Not at all."

She handed him her necklace, stood close with her back to him, and swept all of her hair over her shoulder, baring the back of her neck. He draped the necklace over her and, with shaking hands, managed to clasp the ends together. Turning around, she resituated the pendant and watched as he worked to keep his eyes from following her fingers to her chest. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"No trouble at all, ma'am."

He was actually quite cute and charming, she had to admit. A little something in her melted every time he called her "ma'am" – not "miss," not "kid" – "ma'am." Truth be told, she felt a bit guilty for trying to trick him until she reminded herself that he was likely pushing fifty in her own time, and some of that guilt was assuaged.

"So Eva," he started, "have you, um, have you ever been to one of those weekend movie nights in the mess hall?"

She shook her head.

"Well, they're pretty fun. There's one this Saturday night…if you think you might be interested in going."

"Going in general or going with you?" she clarified.

"With…with me."

She bit her lip. "I'd like that."

"Good." His face relaxed into a smile as he let out a breath he had apparently been holding. "I'll meet you there? How does…eight sound?"

"Eight sounds perfect. See you then, Lieutenant Williams."

"Josh," he corrected.

"Sorry - Josh." She pretended to leave but spun back around after just a few seconds. "Oh!" She touched his wrist. "You almost made me forget. Dr. McKay wanted me to grab his tablet from the lab for him."

He stepped aside as she made her way to the control panel and feigned a search through her pockets for her access card, her hand slowly tracing the curve of her backside as she pretended to feel for the card in her back pocket. Though she couldn't see the lieutenant from where she was standing, she could feel his eyes on her.

"Hm," she murmured, "I must have left it in my jacket." She glanced back at him from over her shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to have your card, would you Josh?"

* * *

There were voices in the corridor that drew Ronon's attention as he made his way to the nearest transporter. Voices themselves in this part of the city weren't uncommon at all. Several labs were located here in the East Pier, as was the gym, even his own quarters. But the kinds of voices normally heard throughout this portion of Atlantis tended to be authoritative, business-like, occasionally boisterous. These voices, by contrast, were quiet…hushed, even. Curiosity piqued as to the owners of these voices, he peered around the corner to see a marine he didn't recognize – likely a new arrival – and Eva, who was standing close to him. Very close. No wonder they were keeping their voices low. As close as they were, whispers would have sufficed.

Something about the way they were interacting felt wrong; and as Eva lightly touched the man's arm and batted her doe-like eyelashes at him, a sudden yet inexplicable wave of both rage and nausea washed over Ronon. Was she flirting with the marine? Admittedly, he was handsome enough to catch her eye and young, too…but not young enough.

Just as the growing urge to barrel through the corridor and separate the two nearly took control of him, Eva turned to leave. Satisfied that he had been imagining their dalliance, Ronon nearly continued on his way, too, until he saw her double back to talk to the marine once more. He watched as she gathered her long chestnut hair to the side, a gesture that triggered a familiar yet murky, almost eerie sense of recognition in his mind, and he knew without a doubt that something was going on between them.

He took a step forward, but her next statement jolted him out of his thoughts as it echoed down the hallway.

"You wouldn't happen to have your card, would you Josh?"

And it all clicked. She wasn't flirting with the guard for the hell of it; she was trying to gain access to McKay's lab. Without hesitation, Ronon emerged from around the corner, causing the marine to immediately straighten his spine and stand at attention, and grabbed Eva by the back of her shirt as if it were the scruff of her neck.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, dragging her away from both the lab and its gullible guard.

Her seductive façade instantly dissolved as her face contorted into a scowl and she growled at him in frustration. She struggled to break free, but he held on tight.

"Hey! What are you doing?" the lieutenant shouted. "Let her go!"

"She's sixteen, you idiot. Next time a pretty girl tries to get into the place you're guarding, try thinking with your brain instead of your cock."

"You're gonna hurt her if you keep handling her like that!"

Ronon and Eva replied simultaneously.

"No, I won't!"

"No, he won't!"

They looked at one another in brief surprise before Ronon spoke once more to the marine. "She's a lot tougher than she looks, believe me." He pulled her into the next corridor and, once they were out of earshot, freed her from his grasp.

"Why is McKay's lab being guarded?" She tugged on the hem of her shirt to straighten it. "What's in there that you don't want other people seeing?"

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that? And zip that up," he barked, gesturing to her chest with his chin.

"Bite me!"

"The hell you think you're doing, anyway, tempting a guy like that? Parading yourself around like some kind of – of…" he searched for the right word, "_skorda_."

"_Skorda_?" A flame ignited within the depths of her gaze. "How dare you call me that! _Notho_!"

"_Notho_?" His surprise was enough for him to momentarily ignore the insult. "You speak Old Satedan?"

She bit back whatever argument she had intended to hurl at him. "A little." The ferocity returned to her eyes as quickly as it had left. "Enough to know what _skorda_ means."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And _notho_, apparently."

"I know the essentials."

He might have laughed if he hadn't been so unsettled by what he had just seen.

"Look, that lieutenant is not _that_ much older than me."

"He's at least twenty-two or twenty-three. That's six years difference!"

"So? You and Emma are five years apart!" she argued.

"And? How is that relevant?"

"You know exactly why that's relevant."

"For the last time, there is nothing going on between me and Rogers." As soon as he said it, he couldn't help but notice that his voice lacked the conviction it had when he had told Eva nearly the exact same thing several days ago. Sharing a bed, even for one short night, wasn't nothing.

"Oh, please. Quit lying to yourself."

"The point is, Eva, that _he_ is a man and _you_ are a child."

"I wasn't even being serious. I was just messing with him."

"Just because you know that, doesn't mean he does. What happens when you're ready to stop your little act, but he's not? What happens when he calls your bluff and gets hurt? Gets angry? Tries to make you fulfill empty promises you made in deceit?"

"I can take care of myself." The volume of her voice had dropped significantly.

"One-on-one against a Wraith, I would put all my bets on you," he said, to which she tried her best not to smile. "But defending yourself against a Wraith and defending yourself against a man…it's completely different."

"I've sparred with men before…"

"You know that sparring and defending yourself – truly defending yourself – aren't the same thing. There's a safety to sparring. You know your opponent will stop if you ask. Would a Wraith, bent on feeding relent if you asked?"

She shook her head.

"Then why do you think a man who wants something from you would?"

"Oh, come on. You're being a drama queen."

He quirked an eyebrow at the strange expression.

"That lieutenant was as polite and respectful as they come."

"Maybe. But after living with these people for four years, believe me when I say not all of them are. And based on what I just saw, I don't think that was your first attempt at a stunt like that."

Eva was finally rendered speechless and had trouble meeting his gaze.

Ronon closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "I'll ask you again. What were you doing trying to get into McKay's lab?"

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows in a gesture of downright defiance. "What's in McKay's lab that needs guarding?"

"You think I know?"

"I think you know something I don't know."

"I know a lot of things you don't know, kid."

She rolled her eyes.

"The guard is there on Woolsey's orders," Ronon revealed.

"What kind of orders?"

"To keep anything that belongs to Janus under lock and key. It's advanced technology that even McKay doesn't fully understand and he doesn't want any of it going missing."

Eva bit the side of her cheek and looked away. It was the truth and she knew it; not the whole truth, probably, but he had told her what he knew.

"Look, I gotta go. Teyla and I are going off world for the day. But don't think we're done talking about this."

She glanced back up at him.

"You're gonna come spar with me tonight."

"Why?"

"You're gonna spar with me so that I can find out the truth. I win, you tell me why you were going into McKay's lab."

She raised an eyebrow. "And if I win?"

"If you win, I talk to Sheppard. Try to convince him to make a case for returning to M5R-233."

Her eyes searched his and he could tell she was seriously considering his offer.

"You know it's a fair deal," he said before walking away.

"According to you…" she muttered.

"Gym. 7 tonight," he called over the sound of the transporter doors closing. "And make sure you're ready to confess!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! I like writing conservative, over-protective dad Ronon. I like to think he mellows out a bit as she gets older.


	45. The Clincher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva schools a few marines in fighting techniques.

Atlantis' gym was an odd, transient place. Most of the time it was packed with people from all parts of the expedition, but at hours like this, when most of the population was having dinner, it was as empty as a ghost town. This was the way Eva preferred it.

Glancing at the overhead clock, she realized she still had over half an hour before her sparring session with Ronon. If she was going to go up against him in a sparring match – especially a version of him who was twenty years younger than the one she knew – then she needed to warm up. So, in relative privacy, she found ways to pass the time.

She stretched, ran, and shadow boxed and as the hour wore on, watched more and more people slowly trickle in. Blocking out the new distractions, she sharpened her focus and analyzed her boxing stance in the mirror, perfecting and correcting every kick, hook, and jab she threw. The more time she spent looking the mirror, though, the more she realized her body had begun to recover from her time as a runner. The muscles in her arms and legs were visible once more, she had gained back some weight, and it looked like her frame had finally turned the corner from skeletal back to solid. Slowly, she was returning to herself. Never would she be the same as she had been before all of this happened, but at least now she recognized her own reflection.

Ten till seven and the gym was filling up. From the mirror's surface, she watched as the women flocked to the treadmills and the men to the weights area. Her father had always complained about that implicit gender separation, cursing and dismissing it as one of the practices from Earth he would never be able to understand. Building muscle was just as important as building stamina, and he had made sure to tell her that almost every time they visited the gym. She was thankful he had taught her to be fast and strong, to be unafraid of being too muscular for a girl. She wouldn't have survived on Sateda if she hadn't built up that strength before being captured.

Unexpectedly, a lump caught in her throat and so she quickly drowned it with a gulp of water.

"Up, Lieutenant! Again!"

The voice had come from the sparring mats where three men were taking turns practicing their hand-to-hand skills. Jarheads, by the looks of them, two standing and one lying prone on the mat.

"Thought you said you were a green belt."

Based on his confidence alone – or perhaps it was arrogance – it was clear that the man who spoke was the highest ranking of the group. He was the tallest and bulkiest of the three, solidly-built, blond hair growing from his close buzz cut. Extending his hand, he helped the fallen marine to stand.

Back on his feet, he straightened his shirt and turned around, causing Eva's adrenaline to spike. It was Lieutenant Williams.

"Said I was working on it, Captain. I'm still just a grey belt."

"What about you, Santiago?" the captain asked. "You been lyin' to me, too?"

"No, sir," the third man replied. "Earned my green belt a few months ago."

"If you say so." He cracked his neck and shook out his hands. "All right. You heard me. Go again, Lieutenant."

They regrouped, the captain along with Santiago taking on Williams. Two against one. This was bound to be interesting.

From the reflection of the mirror, Eva surreptitiously observed their fighting style. Technically, Williams appeared to be well-trained, but he was simply outmatched by Santiago's speed and the captain's sheer size and strength. It was only a matter of seconds before Williams fell on his back again, the other two still standing.

More roughly this time, the captain hoisted Williams up, and it became evident to Eva that he was helping him not out of a sense of camaraderie, but of duty. Something told her that if they hadn't been brothers in arms, he would have left him right there on the mat.

"Listen to me, Lieutenant. You're splitting your attention. When you're caught in a fight where you're outnumbered and you're absolutely sure you won't come out on top, focus on taking just one of the enemy down so your buddy behind you only has to deal with one attacker instead of two."

"Yes, sir."

Eva frowned at that. You should never go into a fight thinking you can't win. She capped her water bottle and marched toward the sparring corner.

"What if you don't have a buddy watching your back?" she called, the 6-inch scar along her own spine prickling from the memories of her time alone.

The men all looked at her in surprise.

"Eva!" Williams blurted out as soon as he saw her. His cheeks glowed bright red – whether from embarrassment or exertion, she didn't know.

She nodded to him. "Lieutenant."

"Can we help you, Miss?" the captain asked. "Women's yoga won't start for another hour or so."

"I don't agree with what you said. Sometimes you're out there on your own…with no one to look after you. You can't just focus on one enemy at a time. You'd die."

The one called Santiago frowned as he looked at her. "Are you that kid they found on Sateda?" he asked.

"I'm the _runner_ they found on Sateda."

The captain took a long step toward her and it took every ounce of her self-control not to take an equally large step backward. "You're the one who called me a shitbird when we were on the Alpha Site the other day."

Eva assumed he intended for his tone to be jocular, but there was something in the way his pupils caught the light that made her stomach constrict.

"Sorry about that," she said with a grimace. "I've been told that the way I address military officers around here leaves something to be desired."

He winked at her. "Start by leaving out the profanity."

"Solid advice."

He stared down at her, hands on his hips and for an instant, she thought he was going to say something else to her, but he refrained. "Santiago, Williams, reset." He turned his back to her and joined Santiago on one end of the mat, with Williams at the other.

Eva stayed to watch.

The captain peered over at her from the corner of his eye. Apparently, he didn't want an audience. "Looks like one of the ellipticals just got freed up. Why don't you claim it before someone else does?"

She shrugged as innocently as she could manage. "I already did my cardio."

He shook his head, decided that it was easier to pretend she wasn't there than argue, and popped his mouthguard in. Again, they charged Williams and after a short melee, he managed to knock Santiago to the floor; but not a second later, he was taken out by the captain himself.

"Better!" the captain shouted.

This was useless. Williams wasn't going to learn anything by getting thrown to the floor every time he tried to defend himself. Eva, perhaps more than anyone else, knew the truth in that.

She stepped onto the mat and knew instantly from the captain's reaction that she had crossed a line. Nevertheless, she offered a hand to Williams and helped him up. "You could have taken them both," she whispered.

"Miss, if you don't mind –"

"Your CO's a heavyweight," she continued, talking only to the lieutenant. "But you're, what? Middleweight, maybe?"

"165 pounds, ma'am."

"Right. So the techniques that work for him maybe won't work for you. The captain could probably take both of you on and through brute force alone mow you down. It's easy for him to say to just focus on one." She crossed her arms and gave Williams a good once over. "You know how to get someone into a clinch?"

Williams looked over to his commanding officer, asking permission. The captain rolled his eyes and shrugged as if to say, "humor her."

"A uh…Muay Thai clinch?"

She nodded. "I think that's what you guys call it."

People from Earth liked to separate their moves into different styles – Judo, Krav Maga, Muay Thai – but to her father, and therefore to her, it was all just fighting.

"Yes, ma'am."

Eva planted her feet in front of him, guarded her face with her hands, and looked him in the eyes. "Go ahead."

He lifted his hands, but hesitated.

"You won't hurt me," she assured him.

"That's uh, that's not quite what I was worried about, ma'am."

She heard snickering from the side of the mat where the captain and Santiago were taking a water break.

Of course that wasn't what he was worried about. Laying his hands on a girl whom he now knew was underaged wasn't exactly prudent. Well then, it looked like she was going to have to force him into it.

With no warning, she charged at him and swung at his face. He dodged it, but she took advantage of his surprise, wrapped both her arms around the back of his head and forced his face down and to her chest. She felt him struggle to break free of her grip on him, but he was too afraid to actually punch or kick her, so he floundered about, losing his ground even more.

"How's it feel in there, Williams?" Santiago jeered.

"Remember, the clinch is an attack, not a defensive move." Her voice strained with the effort of holding down a man who had over fifty pounds and several inches on her. "When your opponent tries to dodge your attack, take advantage of that slip in balance." She tightened her grip on him. "Hands on the crown the head, not the back of the neck. Don't lock your fingers. Dig your elbows into his collarbone and knee him till he drops." She simulated a few knees to his face before letting him go.

His head bobbed up and his face was even redder than it had been before – all the blood having rushed to his head. He shot a quick glance at Santiago behind her. Following his gaze, Eva looked over her shoulder and saw that his expression had changed from one of mockery to genuine surprise. She smirked; sometimes being underestimated gave her an advantage.

"Your turn," she said as she directed her attention back to Williams.

She took a step back and held her arms out wide, offering herself up as an open target. After a brief moment of hesitation, he advanced and got her into a passable clinch.

"Good!" Her voice was muffled by the hold. "Keep these on the inside – that's the dominant position. Dig those elbows." She reached up and clapped one of his arms.

He leaned his elbows into her chest for only a fraction of a second before releasing her.

She smoothed her hair back and gave him a smile. "Nice."

"But what about the other guy?" he asked.

"May I?"

He nodded.

She clinched him again and, once he was subdued, whipped him from side to side. "Use the opponent in the clinch as a shield. Put his body between yours and the other attacker. He'll be hesitant to punch you over his partner. And with something blocking your face from below, the other guy can't throw combinations, but you…you can still kick him." She let him go. "Then once you're clinched opponent is down, all you have to worry about is the other attacker."

"What if he's armed?"

She recognized the new voice immediately and wasn't surprised when she looked over her shoulder to see Ronon coming their way.

"What?"

"What if your opponent has a knife? You get him in a hold like that, he'll gut you like a pig." He dropped his bag of sparring supplies at the edge of the mat, crossed his arms, and shot Lieutenant Williams a glare. "Why is it both times I've found Eva today, you've had your hands on her?"

The lieutenant opened his mouth to answer, but it was the captain who spoke instead.

"Easy," he said as he approached Ronon, palms outstretched. "She just thought she would entertain us with a little demonstration. I watched over the whole thing, made sure it stayed appropriate."

Ronon sneered. "Uh-huh."

Eva looked back and forth from Ronon to the captain and realized she was definitely missing something. Thankfully, whatever history existed between them had drawn Ronon's ire away from Williams.

He turned to her. "Let's go. Ready to get your ass kicked?" He didn't wait for a reply before picking up his things and heading to another mat.

"Rude," she scoffed, making moves to follow.

"Hey, Eva." She looked back and saw it was Williams who had spoken. "Thanks."

She smiled and nodded before joining Ronon who had already begun the process of unpacking his sparring supplies on the new mat.

Arms crossed, she looked down to where he was crouched. "Why did you embarrass me like that?"

"What do you mean?" He pulled out a pair of bantos rods and set them aside.

"Calling me out for using that hold. They were just starting to take me seriously and then you came and ruined it."

He gave her a shrug as he tucked a towel into his pocket. "He should know the disadvantages of the position."

"They weren't practicing with any weapons," she argued.

"No? Well we are." He stood up straight, presented two polished wooden shafts – the kind they used when sparring in place of real knives – and tossed one to her. "You ready?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little bit on the short side. Hope you're still enjoying!


	46. The Sparring Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and Eva spar together to see who will win their bet.

The clatter of the sparring knife falling to the floor drew Ronon's attention and he turned to see that Eva had shaken her hair out of its ponytail and was messing with it.

"You don't need to look pretty for this," he snidely remarked.

Her hands paused. "It's in my eyes."

She resumed, divided it into three sections and began styling it into a long braid. In a flash of déjà vu, he pictured Rogers, sitting in his bed the night before, doing the very same. They hadn't even gone one round yet, but the resemblance between the two was so striking, he felt like he had already taken a blow to the face.

Eva glanced to the side and noticed Ronon staring at her. "What?"

"You braid your hair like that, you give your opponent something to grab onto. He'll yank it, take you with it, and slit your throat."

She gestured to his own head with her chin. "You're one to talk."

Biting his tongue, he took two of his locks and tied them together to keep the rest out of his face.

"And don't think I don't know that." She held the strands of the plait together in one hand and, with the other, rubbed her fingers together and released one long dark brown hair that floated lazily to the floor. "I'm not done yet." She then twisted the braid up into a knot on the top of her head. "You know, the hairs don't get ripped out as easily if it's braided? Means it hurts less if someone does get a grip on it."

He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "Who told you that?"

"My mom," she answered plainly, securing the knot with a large elastic.

Ronon's heart stopped. How would Rogers know something like that? Sure, he had caught glimpses of her in the gym before, but she was usually running, maybe doing yoga, or on rare occasions lifting weights. He had never seen her spar with anyone and, as far as he knew, she had never enrolled in a hand-to-hand class; at least, not any that he taught.

"See?" Eva tilted her head toward him. "Now you can't grab it anymore."

Ronon shook himself from picturing that bruise on Rogers's wrist a few days ago and forced his attention back to Eva.

"All right," he said. "Beauty parlor's closed. Pick up your knife."

"Beauty parlor?" she giggled. "Who still calls it a beauty parlor?"

"What're you supposed to call 'em? That's what they were called on – never mind." He chose to let the issue drop. "Pick up your knife. Edge of the mat. The objective is to disarm."

She did as she was bade (albeit a bit more leisurely than he would have liked), shaking her head and muttering the words "beauty parlor" under her breath as she walked to the opposite side of the mat. When she turned around, he could see that she still bore the same amused expression that his apparently archaic turn of phrase had elicited, but in the moment she looked up into his face and took her fighting stance, it all evaporated.

The instantaneous change in demeanor sent an uncomfortable chill up his spine. There was something unnatural about how fast it happened, something ruthless in her ability to smother her previous emotions. He had always been able to sense a killer when he saw one; years of looking into his own reflection had taught him to hone the skill. Now, like a looking glass, those same eyes – dark and cold – were staring back at him.

Eva bent her knees and settled into a defensive position. It was clever, he thought. Against an opponent so significantly larger and stronger than her, defense was the only intelligent stance. She knew what she was doing. Giving her no chance to anticipate his first move, he lunged across the mat and struck immediately for her chest. Expertly she dodged, feinted right, swung back to the left and scratched the side of his arm. Had they been using real knives, she would have drawn first blood.

They locked eyes and circled one another slowly about the mat. Each step, each adjustment she made closely mirrored his own, giving him the odd sensation that she could predict his every move. In that moment, he realized his disadvantage: her entire fighting technique was predicated on his own. She knew his style, his weaknesses, his idiosyncrasies; she knew them because not only were they his, they were hers too. Differences in size aside, the only discrepancy between their training was that Eva had the added benefit of twenty years wisdom and practice to perfect her technique.

And so, he faced a dilemma. Should he completely change his fighting style in an attempt to throw her off? Or should he double down on the familiar, turn the tables, and rely on the hope that he could draw out her weaknesses before she had a chance to exploit his own?

Eva was inching forward, testing his boundaries, when his instincts kicked in. He charged at her, knife drawn, and attacked. But he missed. In one rapid and artful spin, she was already behind him, aiming a blow at his shoulder that he parried from underneath his left arm just in time. A millisecond later, she would have had him.

Clearly, she understood how her size could be an advantage. She had so little mass that any move she executed was tighter, cleaner, and more precise than if he were to do the same. He sensed that she relied on these dance-like acrobatics to disorient larger opponents like himself and had figured out how to turn their greatest ally – momentum – against them.

If he couldn't rely on his strength or momentum to best her, at least he could rely on his height. Though she knew how to make the best of her small stature, that didn't change the fact that he was taller than her, had longer legs than her, and most importantly, had a longer reach than her. Still twisted backward, blocking her knife with his own, he extended his free arm, grasped her by the neck, swept his foot behind her legs and sent her to the floor. The knife fell from her hand upon impact and Ronon snatched it.

Hand to her throat and wide-eyed, she stared up at him. Maybe her father didn't know that move…or maybe he had never used it on her. After waiting for her to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her, he offered her the knife but, right as she lifted a reluctant hand to take it, drew it back.

She gave him a confused look.

"Why were you in McKay's lab?"

Eva propped herself on her elbows and glared up at him, refusing to answer.

He sighed. "We had a deal, Eva."

"Two out of three." Her voice sounded strained.

"Fine."

She took his hand in hers and he was helping her to her feet when a warrior-like yell from several yards away attracted their attention. Captain Hanson was spiraling midair as Lieutenant Williams slammed him to the mat with a floor-shaking thud next to Santiago who already lay there clutching his stomach. For a completely silent moment, the lieutenant stood in place, staring down at his commanding officer, stunned. Ronon felt some of his animosity toward the young lieutenant dissipate – anyone who caused Hanson any form of pain was deserving of some respect in his eyes. Williams's gaze flitted over to Eva and, just as a tiny smile formed on his lips, Hanson rose to his feet and hooked him square in the gut.

Eva let out a strangled exclamation by Ronon's side and in a wave of intuition, he flung his arm out in front of her to stop her from rushing over to the other mat.

Williams dropped to his knees, croaking as he gasped for air, as Hanson stormed out of the gym.

"What the hell was that?" Eva asked, looking up into his face. "That wasn't fair. They had finished the round. He did what he was supposed to do and – "

Ronon shook his head. "It's not your concern." He handed the sparring knife back to her. "Go back to the other side of the mat."

It took her a minute to take her eyes off Williams, but she eventually made her way to the opposite side of the pad.

This time he waited for her. He wanted to see what she would do if she had to be on the offensive. When she eventually advanced, he could tell that making the first move was not within her comfort zone. And who could blame her? She had been a runner; defense was all that had been asked of her. She lunged and he dodged and then, patiently, he waited. A few seconds passed before she came at him again, but he evaded her once more and could tell that she was becoming frustrated with this new dynamic. After another moment of hesitation, she charged one last time, but he caught her wrist in his hands, twisted her arm behind her back, and readily disarmed her.

"Why were you in McKay's lab?" he asked again as she turned to face him.

"Three out of five." She held out her hand for the knife and he gave it to her.

"Make it five out of eight." He smirked. "I could do this all day."

* * *

They lost count of how many rounds they had gone, but they hadn't lost track of who was winning. Ronon had disarmed her every single time. There were a couple of times that she had come close, and she had landed plenty of hits on him – the blood he was blinking from his vision attested to that – but every single time her knife had ended up in his possession.

For what had to be at least the twentieth time, he found himself staring down at her on the gym floor. "You need to maintain eye contact," he chided.

When she looked back up at him, he noticed a glistening sheen of tears pooling against her lower lashes. She was upset. He couldn't blame her. If he had been knocked down as many times as she had, he would have been upset, too.

"I was." Her voice was soft and cracked a bit as she spoke.

He offered to help her up, but she rebuffed him.

"I thought the point of this was to disarm – not to beat the shit out of your daughter." She said it low enough that one could have assumed she had meant to keep the comment to herself, but it was just loud enough for him to hear, and he retracted his proffered hand.

A wave of heat rolled from his back through his neck and into his face. That's not what he was doing. They were sparring. She was just another sparring partner and if she couldn't keep up, then…

"You're not my daughter." The words spilled from his mouth before he had time to think them through. "I thought we were in agreement about that."

The wet glimmer in her eyes intensified, causing them to take on a distinctly familiar green hue. And for the first time since he had met her, she had no response. No clever retort, no surly rebuttal, no derogatory name to call him. Silently, she rose to her feet and he could feel the stale, sweaty air thicken with her anger. Refusing to look at him again, for which he found himself thankful, she left.


	47. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon joins Emma in one of the city's transporters when the power goes out.

What a colossal waste of time that had been. And to think, when she saw the red amulet sitting there in a beat-up Bankers Box atop McKay's lab counter, she believed they had taken a crucial step toward a solution. The center stone was definitely a ruby, probably the largest she had ever laid eyes on; they had even taken it to one of the geologists to confirm its high chromium content. McKay himself had been excited – excited enough to join her as they presented their findings to Woolsey.

They had the right location. They had the key. They had a plan. And once again, they had been rejected. It was both exhilarating and infuriating how close they were; and the fact that Richard Woolsey and his overly cautious policies were the only real obstacle standing in their way, made their predicament all the more maddening.

The doors of the East Wing's transporter opened automatically as she approached, and the map display came to life as she entered. After punching the icon representing the South Pier, she leaned against one of the interior walls, closed her eyes, and released a groan of frustration. Half a day – wasted.

When she realized the transporter's doors hadn't yet closed, she gave them a curious peek and straightened immediately at the sight of the man in front of her. His hair was tied back, probably to keep it out of his eyes while he sparred, if the beads of sweat along his temples and the blood dripping from his eyebrow were any testament to his prior activities. She preferred his hair like that, she realized; she could see more of his face, the cut of his jaw, the muscles in his neck. He looked less wild with his hair pulled back and more like the military officer she knew he had once been. She pushed the thought away. Since when was she entitled to a preference about his appearance?

He stood, almost in suspended animation, holding the doors open while he stared at her. The look of surprise on his face to see her there was quickly, though not seamlessly, replaced by his usual cool and intense gaze.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't realize there was anyone in here."

She shook her head, waving off the apology. "No worries. We can share."

He hesitated only for the briefest of seconds before joining her. The already cramped space was instantly eclipsed by his presence. She stepped back and pressed herself into the corner to make room for him, but no matter how she maneuvered, it was clear that this space wasn't intended for people his size – much less a person his size _and_ her.

She cleared her throat. "Where you headed?"

"Infirmary," he said. "You?"

"South Pier."

"Headed to your lab?"

"My quarters," she corrected as she touched the infirmary on the map. The display flickered and she furrowed her brow at the anomaly, but the doors soon closed as if nothing had happened. The interior of the transporter was quiet for a moment until Emma decided to speak up.

"What happened to you?" she asked, gesturing to the cut on his eyebrow.

"Eva."

"Ah," she breathed. "Enough said."

"What about you?" He glanced her way for a fraction of a second.

Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair. "What happened to me?" She still felt exhausted, but she hoped she didn't look it, too.

"No, I meant what are you doing on this side of the city?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh…I was with McKay."

He turned to her, brows raised. "Like on a date?"

The preposterousness of his question made her stiffen and meet his gaze head-on. "No! Definitely not."

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened and she realized he was cracking a smile. "It was a joke. McKay's not really your type, anyway, is he?"

Ever so badly, she wanted to ask him what he thought her type was, but she found something else to say instead. "McKay isn't anybody's type."

"You'd be surprised."

As he reached a long arm past her to touch the infirmary icon on the screen, she caught a strong whiff of fresh sweat and pine as he moved. Objectively, it might have been unpleasant, but the way she found herself wanting to breathe him in rendered her witless…like a young doe in the presence of a rutting stag. Through the fog, she could almost feel her neurons struggling to fire as they tried to remind her that she had already touched the infirmary on the map.

"Huh," he murmured.

The room came sharply back into focus. "What is it?"

"We're in a transporter."

"Well ain't you bright as a new penny?" she said, her voice low and Southern twang intensified.

He waited patiently for her to finish mocking him before he explained himself. "If we're in a transporter, we should already be transported."

No sooner had the words left his mouth when the whole city emitted a descending, mechanic groan and the lights in the transporter went out. She couldn't quite stifle the little yelp that left her lips as they were shrouded in complete darkness. What not a second ago had essentially been a tiny, glorified elevator now felt like a chasm, pitch black and limitless. In a movement controlled by something much more powerful than her conscious thoughts, she felt her fingers reaching blindly through the dark until they closed around Ronon's wrist.

There was a quiet whine as he drew his gun from his waistband and spun it once in his hand. Brought to life through kinetic energy, the barrel emitted the faintest, softest orange-red glow which lent a touch of light to the transporter.

Seeing how foolish she looked, holding onto his hand like a scared child, she released his wrist and busied herself with turning on her tablet. She, too, had an artificial source of light within her grasp.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she whispered as the bright blue light of the tablet illuminated her face. "Just got spooked for a second."

"Power must've gone out." She didn't think it was possible, didn't think there was room, but he took a step closer to her, touched the dimmed map, then knocked on the screen of her tablet with his knuckle. "Think you can tap into it and see what's going on?"

Was it possible to smell adrenaline? Whatever it was, she swore it was coming off of Ronon in waves. The air between them took on a different quality and in such a confined space, soon became heady. Her heart was racing, her breath was short, and her knees were turning to jelly.

"Rogers? Can you do it?"

She snapped back to reality. "Wrong kind of scientist, I'm afraid."

"Too bad you didn't bring McKay with you…" He inspected the doors and inched his fingers into the crack between them.

"Are you saying you'd rather be stuck in here with McKay than with me?"

"If McKay were here, we wouldn't _be_ stuck."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

He looked back at her and raised his bloody eyebrow. "But seeing as we are stuck…I'm damn glad it's you in here and not McKay." Digging his fingernails deeper into the space between the doors, he started to pry them apart.

"Stop! Don't do that!"

"Rogers, we're trapped."

"But what if we're, like, mid transport?"

"I…don't think that's how it works."

"You don't know where we might be when you open those doors."

"We probably never left the East Pier." He pressed his face to the space between the doors as if he could see through them. "I didn't feel anything, did you?"

To say she had felt nothing would have been a lie, but she was also pretty sure that wasn't exactly what he was asking. "No, but…"

"Attention Atlantis personnel." The announcement was distant, muffled by the transporter's walls, but she could still hear every word. "We are experiencing a temporary power outage. We have identified the source of the problem and expect power to be restored momentarily. We appreciate your patience as we deal with this issue."

"See?" she said. "Let's just wait a few minutes for them to get the power up and running before we break the transporter."

He moved away from the door and leaned against the wall behind him, spinning his gun back and forth in his hand, flicking the switch between stun and kill, stun and kill.

"Ronon?" she began.

He glanced over to her.

"You're not a fan of small spaces are you?"

"I don't like feeling helpless."

She nodded slightly and took a tiny step toward him. "So what did Eva do to you?" After his generosity and kindness toward her the night before, the least she could do was distract him until the power was restored.

"We were sparring, practicing knife skills. She got me."

"She won?" The surprise in her voice was obvious.

Ronon looked up to her and gave her his usual, frustratingly enticing smirk. "I said she got me. Didn't say she won."

"Oh, come on. You couldn't throw her a bone? Let her win a few rounds?"

He shook his head. "We had a bet."

"A bet?" She was intrigued. "What kind of bet?"

He finally stopped fiddling with his gun. "I caught her trying to sneak into McKay's lab earlier today. Wouldn't tell me why. Told her if I won, she'd have to tell me what she was doing."

"And did she?"

He shook his head. "She got pissed and stormed off."

"Sounds like her."

His head hung low and it looked like he was debating whether to say more. "I uh…I told her she wasn't my kid." He peered over at her to gauge her reaction.

"Ronon…" As soon as she said his name, she regretted how reproachful she sounded.

"What? She can yell at me and shout about how I'm not her father, but I'm not allowed to agree with her?" He returned his gaze to the floor.

"She's a kid," Emma said. "She's allowed to say stupid stuff she doesn't mean."

"But she's not a kid. Not by Satedan standards. Where I come from, you're an adult at sixteen."

"Then why don't you treat her like one?"

He let out a deep sigh as his head fell back against the wall with a dull thud.

"Besides," she started, unsure if she should step into this territory, "she's not one hundred percent Satedan."

He didn't look at her, but he did open his eyes. "You're right. She's not."

"And…for her to say you're not her father, well, it hurts you less. You don't have memories of her. You don't remember seeing her for the first time, or holding her hand when she was scared, or tucking her in at night because none of that has happened." _Yet_. She forced the word back down her throat before it even had a chance to escape.

This time, he did look at her and he looked deep. She was grateful for the dim atmosphere, otherwise she would have felt unbearably vulnerable under his gaze.

"Eva does, though," she continued, pressing through her discomfort. "She has sixteen years of memories of you. Or…of a version of you. Sixteen years of memories of being your daughter and so for you to say that to her…"

"Fuck." He brought his hand to his forehead and pressed on his temples. "See, this is why I don't talk."

Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. She had successfully distracted him from their current predicament, but had probably ended up making him feel even worse than he already did.

"I'm sure she'll get over it," she said, hoping that it would bring him some comfort, but he gave her nothing more than a defeated shrug in the form of a reply.

They needed a change of subject.

"I wonder if Eva was trying to sneak into McKay's lab because she somehow found out about the amulet."

Ronon gave her an interested look. "Amulet? What amulet?"

There was a rising whir, the lights flickered a few times, and it was as though the floor dropped out from under her. With the room spinning around her, she lost her balance and, just as she reached for the wall to break her fall, a pair of reassuring hands gripped her forearms.

"Whoa," he said, steadying her.

Blinking hard, she tried to regain her composure and looked curiously down at his hands.

His eyes followed. "Sorry about the grabbing." With the apology, she expected him to take his hands off her, but he kept them tight on her arms.

"It's okay." She took a deep, replenishing breath. "I'm okay. Just a bout of vertigo. The lights and everything…I got disoriented." As soon as she said it, her stomach released the most embarrassingly loud growl. And as close as they were, there was no way he hadn't heard it.

The doors slid open and Ronon frowned before glancing over her shoulder at the transporter map.

She directed her gaze into the hallway and squinted with confusion. "Wait a minute. This is the –"

"West Pier."

She looked back at him, only to see that he was already staring down at her.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Um…" she began, hoping that if she concentrated hard enough, the red on her cheeks would disappear.

"If you can't remember, then you need to eat." He gestured for her to exit the transporter before him. "Mess hall's open for another half hour."

She stepped out of the transporter and looked over her shoulder to see that he was close behind. "Oh. You don't have to come with me," she insisted. "You should make sure you go to the infirmary, get that cut checked out."

The corner of his mouth turned upward. "I'll be okay. I don't think I'll pass out from the blood loss. You on the other hand…"

"No, really. Don't worry about it. I'm fine. I –"

"I like to eat," he interrupted, effectively putting an end to her protests. "Plus, I wanna hear more about this amulet."

And so somehow, in spite of trying to avoid him all day, she found herself accompanied to dinner. Perhaps the day wouldn't be a total waste.


	48. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and Emma have dinner together in the commissary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small little warning for a reference to miscarriages -- not graphic, not too extensive.

Maybe being so close to him in the transporter made her hyper-aware of his presence as they walked together through the city's halls, but she could have sworn he was staying much closer to her than he normally did. She didn't mind – the hallways felt cold in comparison to the rising trapped heat of the transporter, and the ambient warmth of his body near hers brought her some comfort – but if he got much closer, people were going to be spreading new rumors about her. Then again, perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing; a rumor about her and Ronon would be closer to the truth than any of the slander Hanson was already spewing.

They were walking quickly. Ronon's height and the mess hall's schedule necessitated it, but as they turned the last corner of their journey, Emma found herself on a would-be collision course with a "Wet Floor" sign. She dodged it quickly, causing Ronon to make the strangest jerking motion. He reached his hands out for her, immediately pulled them back, then tried to play the whole thing off like nothing had happened. After a moment of confusion, Emma finally understood why he was hovering so close. Afraid she might have another dizzy spell, he wanted to be there in case she lost her balance again. To him, her avoidance of the sign looked like a stumble, and he was there, ready to catch her if she fell.

And that's when she felt it – a pang in her heart. It was a new sensation, most of her feelings toward him tended to take root in her stomach (and lower, if she were being completely honest), but it wasn't entirely unfamiliar. At once, she felt transported back to the planet they had last been on together. Scared and bleeding, he had been at her side, ready to ignore his commanding officer's orders just to stay by her. That had been the first time she had felt that little, exquisite pain, and now she was feeling it again.

It was good that he was close. The thought that she might be falling for him and, despite what he may have said, that he might have feelings for her, too, was enough to make her lightheaded once more.

They passed through the entrance of the mess hall and as Emma started heading toward one of the tables at the rear of the room, Ronon placed a light touch on her back, steered her away and ushered her onto a balcony. She looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a puzzled look.

"This is the last place they clean. They'll let us stay longer if we sit out here," he explained as he dropped his gym bag to the floor. "And I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air after that transporter ride."

She smiled and nodded, set her things down on the table and turned to follow him.

He stopped in front of her and blocked her path. "Stay here," he instructed, pointing to a chair. "I'll grab something for you."

"You really don't –"

"What do you want?"

"Really, I'm perfectly capable of –"

"Look, I don't want you getting the vapors again with a full tray of food in your hands."

She felt a laugh bubble up inside her chest. "The vapors?"

A smile spread across his lips. "They've got enough to clean up in here without you dropping your dinner all over the floor."

"Fine." She crossed her arms and plopped into one of the chairs, staring defiantly back at him. "I'll just sit here on my fainting couch, loosening my corset and smelling the saltshaker till you return."

"Good," he said tersely as he turned to leave. He made it two steps before giving her a last glance. "Anything you don't like?"

"Tuna."

He nodded. "Try not to pass out. I'll be back."

And he was. Within a few minutes' time, he had returned with two heaping trays of food – far more than she could ever eat in one sitting. He set one in front and the other across from her, then pulled two bottles of sports drink from each of his back pockets.

Emma couldn't help but smile as he passed one of them to her. "Thank you."

"I uh…wasn't sure what you wanted, so I got everything," he said, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand. "Well, except for the tuna salad sandwich."

In that moment she understood why Eva's mother, in her time and her reality, had chosen him.

* * *

"So Alan – Dr. Hirsch – and I had this great theory that appears to be substantiated. We found the ruby in a box of Janus' personal items in McKay's lab and so the three of us went to present it to Woolsey, but he completely shot us down," she said before taking a bite of her sandwich. She shook her head and looked down at her plate as she chewed.

"We should go," Ronon said.

She swallowed her bite prematurely. "But I'm not done."

He gave her a half smile. "I meant to the planet. We should go back and test your idea."

"_You_ try convincing Woolsey," she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"That was part of our bet."

"Your bet with Eva?"

He nodded. "If I won, she had to tell me why she was snooping in McKay's lab. If she won, I said I'd talk to Sheppard and get him to make her case to Woolsey."

"And do you think you could convince him?"

"Convince Sheppard?"

She nodded.

His half smile widened. "I think he might be more interested in that request if it came from you, rather than me."

She felt herself flush and deflected her gaze toward the ocean. "I'm sure that Colonel Sheppard is a very nice person. He's funny, smart, a competent leader, but I just find him a little too –"

"Arrogant?"

Her jaw fell slack and she met his eyes again. "I thought you two were friends!"

"We are. Which means I'm allowed to talk shit about him." He took a swig of his drink and leaned back in his chair.

"I was _going_ to say insistent…sometimes bordering on pushy."

He set the bottle back on the table. "It's just because he likes you."

"Me and how many other women on this base?"

Shrugging a shoulder, he made a noise that was something between a laugh and a sound of agreement, but said no more.

Only a few bites of crust remained from her sandwich, so she moved to the orange on her tray. Peeling it helped to fill the lull in the conversation.

The night was cool and the breeze was persistent. They were entering the monsoon season in this part of the ocean, so the waves were rough and the salt in the air was heavy. Still, over the citrus of the orange in her hands and the brine in the wind, somehow his scent was the one that prevailed over the others. After waking up this morning with it clinging to her hair, her clothes, and even her own skin, she felt particularly sensitive to it.

"I just want to get Eva back to her time," she looked up at him, "to her parents."

Ronon scratched the back of his head. "I figured she missed them. But…I hadn't thought about it the other way around till you brought it up during the meeting yesterday."

"Losing a child is…" she shook her head and her voice fell to a whisper, "it's something no one should ever have to go through."

The expression on his face turned grave. There was no mischief in his eyes, no smirk on his lips, no teasing remark at the ready. "You know something about that?"

The sound of her heart pounding in her ears drowned everything else out. Yes, she knew plenty about that. She knew what it was like to carry a child to term, to give her life, to hold her for the first time in her arms, only for her to leave the hospital with empty hands, an empty womb, and an empty heart.

"My sister…" Why did she suddenly feel compelled to tell him everything? To confess the biggest secret of her life to him?

"Michelle?"

There it was again. That pang in her heart. He remembered her sister's name.

"My sister and her husband had some struggles with fertility for a while. They have a daughter now, but it was…difficult for them. Michelle had four miscarriages, actually." She cleared her throat. "I remember each of them."

Ronon had stopped eating, had stopped moving, and was focusing every ounce of his attention on her. Perhaps the tradeoff for not being the best talker was that all of that energy went to listening instead.

"I went to check on her after the first one, and when I got to her house, I found her upstairs in the room that was supposed to be the nursery. It was still early, so they hadn't really bought anything like a crib or a changing table, they hadn't painted. There was really only one baby-related thing in there. It was this little shirt that she had bought with the intention of using it to announce the pregnancy to our parents. It said, 'Hi Grandma and Grandpa. See you in February!'"

Atop the table, his hand twitched, mere inches from hers. She couldn't take her eyes off it.

"Michelle was alone, sitting on the floor, sobbing, and holding that tiny shirt to her chest. I couldn't get her to stop crying, couldn't get her to stand up, couldn't get her to let go of the damn shirt." She shook her head. "That wasn't even a child… not really."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a hard time for our family," she concluded.

Harder still was the next year, when Emma came home from her third year of college with two black eyes, a broken nose and an unwanted pregnancy, which prompted Michelle to accuse her of being ungrateful and flaunting it in her face.

"I didn't know you had a niece," he said.

She hoped she could pass the tears clouding her vision off as tears of compassion, rather than self-pity. "Her name is Allie. Allison Jane."

He stared at her for a moment, that unwavering, exacting stare that made her feel exposed, but never uneasy.

"I'll talk to Sheppard," he finally said, "see if he can convince Woolsey."

She managed a weak smiled and resumed picking apart her orange.

"So why didn't you eat today?" he asked.

She looked out at the ocean. "I was busy."

"You're always busy," he countered. "Hasn't stopped you from coming in here to grab a bite to eat before."

Sighing, she chanced a glance at him. "I may have been afraid of running into you here," she admitted.

That took him by surprise. "Me? Why?"

"Because of last night," she confessed. "I was embarrassed to see you today. I was so embarrassed about what I asked you to do for me. It's just…I was so fucking tired."

"Don't be embarrassed about that," he said, shaking his head. "I know what exhaustion can do to a person."

Still feeling sheepish, she shrugged off his reply.

"Is uh…is that why you left so early this morning?" His tone was casual, but she sensed something else she couldn't quite pinpoint behind it. "'Cause you were embarrassed?"

"I was afraid that someone would see me going back to my room and I figured the earlier I snuck back, the better." She rolled her eyes. "Not that it mattered. All these military types get up at the ass crack of dawn. Someone saw me anyway, and now, according to Alan, there are at least three different men claiming to have been the one with me last night."

"Who?"

Her eyes widened. His tone had instantaneously gone from casual and reassuring to aggressive and, maybe she was being delusional, but she thought she sensed a hint of jealousy, too.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

He smirked. "So that I know who to make my partner next time I teach a hand-to-hand class."

A small smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head. "It's ok," she said softly. "It doesn't matter."

He shrugged and, over her shoulder, watched a mess hall employee wipe down the balcony tables. "Bring a change of clothes."

Emma choked on her orange and sputtered a bit. "What?"

"You could have brought a uniform to change into," he clarified.

That wasn't what he had said initially. His first statement wasn't a hypothetical, the use of the imperative implied there would be a next time. Didn't it? She had to tell herself to stop analyzing his speech patterns; he was her colleague, not a piece of Ancient text that needed deciphering.

"Well, I didn't want to make it look like I was moving in," she explained, trying to mask her exasperation. "I was already pushing it. Hell, I was lucky you didn't have some girl in there with you."

He looked at her for a long moment. "I don't bring women back to my place."

She raised an accusatory eyebrow. She had heard the stories, the whispers, the gossip.

"I go to theirs. It's easier to leave someone else's place than kick someone out."

That was definitely true. Hadn't she done just that this morning? Disappeared without a word, without a thank you?

"Besides," he fixed her with a long stare, "you're not the only one who gets rumors spread about them."

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. "So if I knock on your door late one night and you're not there, then…"

"Then I'm probably sparring," he finished for her.

She sent him a wicked look. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Hiding a smile, he shook his head and threw a slice of red pepper at her, which she instinctively batted away, sending it flying into the ocean.

"Hey!"

The shout had come from the cleaning employee who pointed angrily to the nearest "Keep Our Ocean Clean" signs. Ronon and Emma looked wide-eyed at each other like two kids who had just gotten caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

"We should go," she said urgently.

He nodded in agreement, already picking up his things.

They brought their trays to the bussing station without delay and headed back to the center of the city.

"You taking the transporter?" he asked as they approached it.

She laughed. "No, thank you. I think it's best if I take the scenic route tonight."

"Same. I should finally swing by the infirmary." He gingerly touched his split eyebrow, looked at the stain of blood on his finger, and grimaced.

"Good idea."

All at once, it hit her. Whether either of them had intended it, this had been a date, and now they were at the end of it. Usually, there was some sort of "I had a great time tonight," or an "I'll call you," sometimes a kiss, or even a "Do you want to come in?" Yet none of those seemed appropriate for the situation.

Thoughts racing, she swallowed whatever nervous energy was broiling inside of her and spoke. "Thank you for keeping me company."

"No problem." He shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other. "Need me to walk you back to your quarters?"

If the offer had come from any other man, she would have suspected him of trying to trick her into inviting him back to her place. But with Ronon, she knew the offer was sincere. All he wanted was to make sure she made it back safe.

Another heart pang.

"I think I'll be fine," she decided. "Besides, after hearing what you do with girls in their own quarters, I don't think you should," she teased.

He grinned and nodded. "Good night, Rogers."

"'Night," she smiled.


	49. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma finds an unwelcome surprise in her quarters. When she goes to Ronon's room to get to the bottom of things, she suffers an asthma attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few content warnings for this one: implied masturbation, stalking (I guess?), and fear of potential sexual assault (that does not occur).
> 
> I was binge watching Sex and the City before I wrote this chapter. Can you find the little hint of inspiration I took from it? ;)

She practically floated through the dimly-lit corridors on her way to her room, something like an electrical current surging through her body. It made her skin prickle, the raised hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck catching the wake of the cool breeze created by her own swift movement. It had been such a long time since she had felt the telltale flush across her cheeks, the heart palpitations, the light headedness…

She tried to shake it off. Her blood sugar was probably peaking too quickly. It had to be from finally eating after practically fasting all day. That's all it was.

"It's the complete apathy demonstrated by your team that worries me, Doctor. We can't risk another outage like that."

Like an anchor, she fell back to earth, immobile. She knew that voice. It was the voice that had given her this new bout of insomnia, the voice that had driven her to seek refuge in another man's bed. Looking to both sides, she located the nearest empty laboratory, ducked inside and kept her ear close to the doorway to listen.

The voice that replied was Zelenka's. "I agree, Captain. It was most inconvenient."

"Inconvenient? It was a safety hazard."

Why the hell was Hanson on this side of the city? The security office was located at the city's center – not all the way out here.

"The outage was connected to our naquadah generators – not to the ZPM," Zelenka explained. "The city's shield and the Stargate were not impacted by the outage. I assure you, we were still protected from any outside threat for the five minutes during which the power was out."

"Not all threats come from the outside, Doctor."

"I'm…not sure I catch your meaning."

"All my security cameras are powered by those naquadah generators which means, for five whole minutes, our city lost every last bit of its surveillance."

She could hardly hear their distant conversation over the hammering of her heart in her ears. Even if it meant risking another malfunction, she regretted her decision to not take the transporter again. Being trapped alone and in the dark for an hour would have still been preferable to crossing paths with Hanson even for a second.

"Are you suggesting the power was cut intentionally?" Zelenka asked. "Foul play?"

"I'm saying we shouldn't rule it out. Anything could have happened during those five minutes and we would have no idea it happened because we don't have the footage."

"But do you really think –"

"It's my job to be paranoid, Doctor. Every place has its bad apples."

Emma almost released an indignant snort. Took one to know one.

"If I find any sign that someone intentionally tampered with the generators, you'll be one of the first to know, Captain."

"I appreciate it. I just want to make sure everyone under our roof is safe."

"Of course."

With the conclusion of their conversation, the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder and louder until, right in front of the door to the lab, they stopped. Pressing herself closer to the wall, she covered her mouth, holding her breath as the red light of the security camera in the corner blinked ominously in the semi-dark.

Was there any way he could know she was in there? Had he seen or heard her? Or had he simply stopped to look at something…to tie his shoe?

After a long moment in which she refused to move, refused to look, refused to breathe, his footsteps picked up again signifying his departure. Quickly, she fled her hiding place and hurried the rest of the way back to her quarters, hardly stopping longer than a couple seconds to greet Zelenka who was still hovering outside the generator atrium.

Only once she was in the privacy and safety of her own room, did she take a moment to stand still, take a deep breath, and try to relax. Eventually her heart slowed its frantic rhythm, but her thoughts wouldn't stop racing. By now, the hour was on the later side, and she knew that if she intended on getting any sleep, she needed to find a way to calm down. Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror, she took in the puffy, purple bags under her eyes, tugged at the delicate skin and realized, as well as she had slept the night before – and she had slept very well – the five hours in Ronon's bed hadn't been enough to make up for several full days without sleep. As soon she began to hope that maybe tonight would be better, a twinge of panic flared in her stomach and she felt suddenly compelled to check that the door was locked.

It was. Of course, it was. Locking the door had been the first thing she had done when she arrived.

She headed to the bathroom, told herself she was being paranoid, and started brushing her teeth. By the time she had begun to remove her makeup, she realized that even if she put on her pajamas and lay in her bed, there was no way she would fall asleep. She needed something to ease her worries first.

It was the odd gurgling sound of the drain that gave her the idea. Being part of a floating city, the bathtub did that sometimes. Normally, she wasn't the kind of person to indulge in a bath. Her mother and her sister were that type of person, not her; fifteen minutes in the shower was more her style of bathing luxury. For some reason, though, the idea called to her and so she turned on the tap, poured a bit of the lavender oil she had brought back from her time in France, and let the water fill the basin.

The surface was glossy and steaming by the time she carefully lowered herself into the bathtub. At first it felt strange, almost lazy, to simply sit without anything productive to do. For a moment, she seriously considered getting out and making a naked dash to the bedroom to grab a book, but the warm embrace of the water enveloped her and made her surrender to it. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the back of the tub and tried to clear her head.

Her body relaxed before her mind did. It felt both heavy and weightless, like it knew precisely how to achieve the inner calm that her mind could not. No matter what she tried to distract herself with, the memory of Captain Hanson dominated her thoughts. Soon, all that worry and fear turned to resentment. What right did he have to monopolize this moment – this evening? If there was anyone who deserved to be the focus of her thoughts tonight, it was Ronon.

She sank lower into the tub, the heat of the water making her recall the heat of the transporter and the warmth of his hands as he held on to her. The ripples lapped gently at her neck, making her ache for a heavier, more substantial touch, and there was a pulsing, hollow tightness low in her belly that longed for a release. Her heartbeat, strong and steady, pounded visibly through her breast.

Once more, her body had come to the conclusion before her mind had. She wanted him. She wanted him here and she wanted him now. She wanted him near her, around her, inside her.

It had been a long time – over a year – since she had let a man touch her and, if Ronon had told the truth about his lack of feelings for her, it would be a lot longer still. Her hand trailed down her stomach, past her hips, and as she slipped her fingers between her legs, she couldn't help but wonder if he knew that she was naked and alone, thinking of him, would he maybe change his mind?

* * *

Sated, a bit weak-kneed, and – more than anything – tired, she drained the tub and leisurely tied a towel around her body before making her way back into the bedroom. The bath had had the desired effect and gave her hope that she would actually be able to fall asleep in her own bed tonight. As it turned out, thinking of Ronon worked the same way physically being near him did; it kept all thoughts of Hanson far away.

Across the bedroom, her cozy little bed looked so inviting, but before she reached it, something in her peripheral vision drew her attention and stopped her dead in her tracks. Atop her desk was a large bouquet of yellow flowers. Hyacinths. And they hadn't been there before her shower. 

Looking frantically about the room, she tightened the towel around her chest.

"Hello?" she called, but to no reply.

She ran to the door and checked the sensor: still locked. Cautiously, she approached the flowers, and, with shaking hands picked up the note attached to them.

"Hope you had fun last night, beautiful."

She dropped the note to the floor and took a step backward. Her adrenaline spiked and, for the second time that night, felt woozy.

Headset. Where was her headset? She picked it up off her dresser and shoved it into her ear.

"Ronon?"

No answer.

"Ronon Dex? This is Dr. Rogers, please respond."

But he didn't.

"Ronon, this is Rogers, please pick up."

Static. Nothing.

"Dammit," she hissed, tossing her headset back onto the dresser. She threw on some leggings and a t-shirt as quickly as she could, and shoved a pair of shoes onto her feet, not even bothering to check if they matched.

This time, she didn't hesitate to use the transporter. She rushed through the halls of the city and before she fully comprehended where her feet had taken her, she was in front of Ronon's door.

First, she rang the chime and waited for a moment, but he didn't answer. She rang the chime again. When he didn't come to the door after the third chime, she started to knock and soon, the knocking turned into banging. Anyone passing by would have thought her insane, desperate, but she needed to talk to him. She needed to know if the flowers were from him because if they weren't…

Just as she was about to give up, the door slid open and she was face-to-face once again with her dinner partner.

He raised his eyebrows with surprise when he saw her. "Hey," he greeted before an air of concern took over his features and she realized just how unhinged she must have looked. "You okay?"

"Did you send me flowers?" she asked immediately.

He looked bewildered. "What?"

"A bouquet of yellow flowers. Hy-hyacinths, I think. Did you send them to me?"

He shook his head. "No." His eyes widened with worry.

Had the situation been different, she would have found his reaction, his fear of infringing upon some custom, unknown and foreign to him, beyond endearing. But all she could feel was panic.

"Was I supposed to?"

She brought a hand to her forehead and turned her back to him. Her heart was racing so fast, it hurt. Captain Hanson. He had been there, in her room. He had overridden her security code like he said he could and went in there while she was bathing. He had been so close, heard her while she was…

"Sounds like you have an admirer," Ronon joked from behind her.

She spun back toward him and brought a hand to her tightening chest. "Don't fuck with me," she hissed. "You're sure it wasn't you?" Tears began to blur her vision.

Sensing her fear and desperation, he became serious once more. "I'm sure, Rogers."

The speed with which her throat closed surprised even her and she wheezed so loudly, it echoed through the corridor.

"Whoa," he said with alarm as he reached out for her.

He had been in her quarters. He had touched her belongings, seen where she slept, looked at the pictures of her family, of her _daughter_, on her desk. He had been feet away from her bathroom door. He could have opened it and barged in on her. And since he clearly had no qualms about violating her privacy, then she would bet that he wouldn't have had any about violating her, either. And what could she have done? She had been completely undressed, unarmed, and aroused. An easy target, she thought bitterly; she had already done half the work for him. What could she have done to defend herself?

Nothing.

She wanted to sob, but couldn't take in enough air to produce one. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks while her neck and shoulders tensed upward and together, her body's way of expanding her chest cavity; all the while, her torso spasmed with each attempted inhalation.

"What do you need?" Ronon urgently asked. "Do you have your—your medicine?"

She shook her head. Rule one of being an asthmatic: always have your inhaler on you. She could picture it sitting on her nightstand, but her leggings didn't have pockets and, in her panic, she had left it there. How careless could she have been?

"You need to go to the infirmary," he said, gripping her by forearm, bent on taking her there.

She planted her feet and shook her head as forcefully as she could. She couldn't explain to him that the infirmary was too far away, that she would likely stop breathing entirely before they got there. She couldn't explain to him that the impending attack hadn't yet taken root, that if she could stay still and calm herself down within the next few minutes, she could still try to reverse it. She couldn't explain to him that she was going to have to stave off this attack without any medical assistance. But she had done it before and she could do it again.

"Air," she wheezed.

"Air?" he repeated. "You need air. I know you need air." He clenched his jaw. "Rogers, you gotta tell me what to do."

She closed her eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"Fresh air," she managed to say.

Without a second's hesitation, he took her by the hand, pulled her into his quarters, and led her to his small attached balcony. Knuckles white, she gripped to the railing with both hands and stretched her torso as much as she could, rolling her shoulders and arching her back to lengthen her airway.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

She kept her eyes shut, trying to match her breathing to the rhythm of the waves. Ronon's hand was heavy and solid against her back and she focused on its weight, on its warmth. She envisioned sending her breath to that spot, imagined her lungs expanding so fully they would meet his hand on the other side.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

The waves and his hand. They were all that existed.

They probably stood together for ten or fifteen minutes, waiting for the attack to pass. As her breathing finally normalized, she felt his hand slip. He ran it slowly, reassuringly, up and down the length of her spine and her heartbeat accelerated at his touch – exactly what she didn't need at the moment. She forced her eyes open and turned carefully to face him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He looked down at her, eyes wide with…fear? Had she scared him?

Her eyes dropped to his chest, rapidly rising and falling, as she finally took in his appearance. He was undressed from the waist up, just like he had been the night before. Droplets of water fell slowly from the ends of his soaked dreadlocks and damp beard, trickling down the bronzed skin of his shoulders, back, and torso. The dark hair on his chest and arms stood erect against the chill of the sea air. She could tell how cold he was, and she hastily crossed her arms across her chest, hoping that he couldn't tell the same about her through the thinning fabric of her old college T-shirt. Her inhaler wasn't the only thing she had left behind in her quarters, she realized.

"Your lips are blue," he finally said.

"From the lack of oxygen," she explained, the raspiness of her own voice startling her. "I need to sit down now."

He nodded and drew up a wooden chair from the other side of his room, placing it close to the balcony door so that she could still breathe in the cold night air. She sat and straightened herself against the back of it while he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of the sink, and watched as he returned with a glass of water in his hand, which she gratefully accepted, taking a tiny sip out of it.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, his voice low, tone stern.

She swallowed carefully. "My asthma."

"No shit. Where's your medication?"

"In my quarters," she replied, unable to raise her voice above the level of a whisper.

"I should take you to the infirmary," he said.

She shook her head. "I should stay where I am." The trek there could put too much stress on her lungs.

"Why did you have it? What brought it on? Why now?" He gestured to the door. "One second you were fine and talking and the next –" He stopped himself short, and ran his hands through his wet hair. "You scared the shit outta me, Rogers."

She looked away from him and shrugged. "It must have been the walk over here," she lied. "It's a long way…from the South pier to the East."

He narrowed his eyes at her and tried to catch her gaze again. "You run miles and miles on the track all the time, but the walk from your place to mine is what gave you an asthma attack?" He clearly wasn't buying it.

She shrugged again, still trying to avoid his scrutiny.

He sighed with reluctant acceptance. He knew she wasn't going to tell him the truth. "Look," he started, "you interrupted me in the middle of my shower …"

That explained the lack of shirt and dripping water. She felt herself flush and tried not to wonder if his bathing thoughts had been anything like hers tonight.

"So I'm gonna go finish that real quick. Stay here and if you need anything…knock, I guess."

She nodded feebly as he headed toward the bathroom.

"And Rogers?"

She looked back up at him.

"Remind me to never get you flowers."

Had she not been so traumatized by the whole ordeal, she would have laughed. After half a minute, she heard the water turn on and she shifted in the chair. It was hard and uncomfortable and she entertained the idea of moving to the bed, but decided against it; she didn't want to make herself too at home, lying in his bed like some deranged, wheezing Goldilocks.

She fought it; she really did. But the attack had exhausted her to her core and, on top of that, she had only gotten five hours of sleep in the past four days. Resistance was not only pointless, it was impossible. The breeze was soft, and the waves were steady, but it wasn't the air or the ocean that lulled her to sleep – it was that she finally found herself in a place where she was safe.


	50. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon tries to figure out what to do with Emma post asthma attack. He then has a nightmare, which makes Emma realize just how deep her feelings for him are.

The shower was running and he was wasting water, but he didn't care. He needed to figure out what to do with Rogers. He still thought she needed to go to the infirmary, but, for whatever reason, she was adamantly opposed to the idea. Maybe he could radio the doctor on call and have them make a house visit. But then they'd have to explain why she was essentially passed out in his quarters which, at the least would cause more rumors about Rogers to fly and at the worst, could land him in hot water. Maybe he could take her back to her own quarters – she wouldn't have to walk, he'd carry her if necessary – but the idea of leaving her alone all night, unattended, made him uneasy. What if she had an attack in the middle of the night? Maybe she could stay with him again, but then she wouldn't have access to her medicine. Perhaps she could prevent one attack without the help of her meds, but he saw what it had done to her; he didn't think she could withstand another one if it happened tonight.

His earpiece on the bathroom counter caught his eye. Slipping it over his ear, he changed the frequency, and spoke into it.

"Control?" he said, careful to keep his voice low.

"This is control, go head Mr. Dex." The voice on the other end sounded like Chuck's and he wasn't doing a very good job of concealing his surprise. Ronon never made calls on the radio and, to be frank, it was lucky if he even answered them.

"Yeah. Hey, listen. Was Eva ever issued a radio?" he asked.

"Eva?"

"Eva Dex." To say the girl's first name paired with his own made him feel both proud and unsettled. For over a decade now, he thought he'd be the last of his name.

"No, sir. She's not an official member of the expedition."

"Damn. All right." Well that was that idea, snuffed out.

"If you need to speak to her, though, I can patch you in through the interface in her quarters – assuming she's in there."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"Okay. Yeah. Give it a try."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks," he added a bit awkwardly.

"No problem, sir. Give it about three seconds. When you hear the click, start talking."

There was dead air for about as long as Chuck said there would be, and then a soft clicking sound.

"Uh…Eva?"

There was no reply.

"Eva, it's Ronon. If you're there –"

"What?" Her voice was as sharp as barbed wire.

"Good, you're up."

She didn't respond to that.

"Look, I know you're mad, but I need you do to something for me."

"No. It's late and I'm already in bed."

If she could have hung up, he was sure she would have. But the benefit of talking through the com in her room was that she didn't have control over it. Their conversation would only truly end when he stopped the transmission. ...Or if she left her own quarters just to avoid talking to him. He wouldn't have put it past her.

He tried a different tactic. "What if I told you it wasn't a favor for me…but for someone else?"

"Like who?"

"It's…for Dr. Rogers."

There was a pause on the other side. "For Emma?"

"Yeah."

She didn't say anything else, which he took as his cue to keep talking.

"She's…she's here with me and she needs her asthma medication, but she doesn't have it with her. Did she, by any chance, give you access to her quarters?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "She did. In case I ever needed anything from her."

Of course she had. Rogers was already so much better at dealing with this whole Eva situation than he was. And thank goodness for it.

"I need you to go into her room, grab her medication, and bring it here. East Pier, room 4524."

She let out a little growl of frustration. "Fine. I'll do it."

"I'd meet you somewhere halfway in between but…" He nearly gave her some excuse, but then realized, out of everyone in the city, Eva was the only one he didn't have to worry about concealing the truth from. "But I don't want to leave her alone," he confessed.

"Fine. I should be there in about ten minutes."

He heard rustling sounds from her end of the conversation, and assumed she must be putting on more clothes or a pair of shoes. It made him think of Rogers in the other room, wearing that threadbare V-neck that looked like it was about two washes away from falling apart at the seams and those soft, tight black pants that he knew must be comfortable for her, but left him feeling quite the opposite as he tried not to stare.

"Eva?"

"Hm?"

"Bring her a uniform, too, if you can find one."

"Roger that."

"Thanks."

There was no _you're welcome_.

"Leaving now," she said. He heard the faint swish of her door and ended the transmission.

* * *

He made sure to shower quickly and by the time he had toweled off and put his clothes on, there was a soft knock at his door. How Eva somehow knew to knock, rather than ring the chime, he didn't know, but he was grateful that she hadn't awakened Rogers, who was fast asleep in the chair by the balcony.

He opened the door and Eva peered around him before he stepped into the hallway to join her.

"One steroid rescue inhaler, as requested," she said, dropping it into his hand. She then slung a canvas bag off her shoulder and held it out for him. "I brought a few of her other inhalers and her peak flow meter, and there's a change of clothes in there, too."

"Peak flow meter?"

"Yeah, to measure her breath values."

"All right… Thanks, Eva."

She nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey, wait."

She turned back and raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I'm uh…I'm sorry about earlier."

"Sorry for what?" she asked, shaking her head.

"For going as hard with you as I did."

She looked down at the floor and let out a deep sigh. "How else am I supposed to learn?" The irony of her tone was thick, as though the phrase had been said to her countless times in the past and she had learned to parrot it back.

"Still, I could have –"

"Don't worry about it," she said tersely, cutting him off.

"Well, I owe you one now." He lifted the bag of Emma's things as proof. "So I'm gonna make sure I talk to Sheppard tomorrow about going back to that planet."

"Great. That's great." She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and was now avoiding looking at him.

He knitted his brows. "You all right?"

"Yeah, no. I'm fine." She gestured inside his quarters. "It's just… I saw the flowers in her room and made the mistake of reading the note and you two clearly have something planned for tonight, too, so I'm just feeling kind of icky and awkward, so can I go?"

"What? Oh no – it's not, we're not –"

"I really don't need the details," she grimaced, taking a few steps back.

A short laugh of amusement escaped Ronon's lips and he smiled at Eva, nodding. "Yeah. You can go. Good night."

"Bye," she called, already on her way.

"Thanks again."

She paused and looked back over her shoulder, a more serious and (dare he say) mature expression on her face. "Next time, don't even bother with the flowers; the pollen's bad for her asthma. Bottle of wine, or better yet – tequila – will get you a lot further."

He tipped his chin toward her. "I'll keep that in mind."

She disappeared down the hallway and he returned to the quiet darkness of his quarters, more curious than ever about these mystery flowers and the note that accompanied them. If there had been a note, why hadn't she known who had sent them? He pushed those thoughts temporarily aside and decided that maybe when Rogers was feeling better, he'd dare to ask her about them again.

Bag and medication in hand, he walked over to Rogers, knelt at her feet and touched her shoulder as gently as he could, then said her name.

Her eyes fluttered open, but she wasn't startled. A small victory.

"You should stay here tonight," he said, getting straight to the point.

She shook her head. "I can't ask that of you. Not again," she whispered as she straightened her neck. "Besides, I need –"

"This?" He held the inhaler out for her.

Her eyes widened and glossed over, clearly moved by the gesture. "Where did you get this?" she asked as she took the device from his hand. She read the label and once she confirmed that it was the right one, shook it quickly, popped the cap off and took a long drag.

"I had Eva grab a few things for you from your quarters," he explained as she closed her eyes and held her breath, before finally exhaling. "I figured you'd given her access to your door."

When she opened her eyes, he handed her the bag of supplies so she could take a brief look inside.

"Wow, she even grabbed my meter." The effect of her medication had been almost instantaneous. The residual wheezing that underscored her breathing lessened and when she spoke, her voice was much clearer. "Thank you."

She took what must have been the peak flow meter, brought it to her lips, and exhaled a forceful gust of air into it. He looked away, allowing her to have her privacy as she completed this odd little routine that seemed so normal for her and so strange to him, and heard her breathe two more times into the device.

"370," she whispered, prompting him to look back at her. "What's 370 divided by 450?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy."

With her index finger, she drew an invisible equation on her thigh. "Eighty-two percent?"

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"I think…yeah. Eighty-two percent."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm supposed to seek medical help if my value drops below eighty percent of my personal best."

"And you're at eighty-two?"

She nodded.

"I'll take you to the infirmary, Rogers." He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "We could go right now. Dr. Cole's on tonight and she's –"

"Hey now," she said, cutting him off. "Last time I went to school, eighty-two was greater than eighty."

Stubborn woman. If that's the way it was going to be, if she intended on being stubborn, then so could he.

"Great," he said rubbing his hands together. "So then we agree. Since you're not going to the infirmary, that means you'll be staying here."

He stood up and offered his hand to help her out of the chair. He watched her hesitate, watched as she considered still leaving him anyway, but ultimately, she gave in. She accepted his hand and he hoisted her up, only for her knees to buckle under her own weight, which caused her to lose her balance. She would have fallen entirely had he not still been holding onto her hand.

"Dammit, Rogers." He squatted down and lifted her into his arms so he could carry her to the bed. "You're a fucking mess."

She buried her face behind a hand and laughed quietly at herself. "I'm not usually like this, I swear."

"Only around me?" he teased.

They had reached the edge of the bed, but he stood there, peering down into her hidden face, still holding her in his arms.

She peeked at him through a gap in her fingers. "Yes," she replied sarcastically. "I save it all up for you." She moved her hand away from her face. "See, if I made too good of an impression on you, you'd fall for me just like Sheppard did." Her voice dropped and became hoarse again. "And we both agreed we can't have that, now can we?"

He remembered the night he had carried Melena, exactly like this, to their marital bed mere weeks before everything they knew, before their entire life together, was destroyed. That had been ten years ago, the mandatory length of mourning time on Sateda for those who had lost their spouses. He had waited long enough, hadn't he?

"No," he agreed. "No, we can't."

She gazed back up at him, sadness clouding her features. "You gonna put me down now, hoss?"

With a nod, he set her gently onto his bed, pinched out the candles, and joined her on the other side.

* * *

The wind whistled through the window as a wet monsoon passed over the ocean, the dark red curtains blowing wildly in its wake. Emma woke with a start as a particularly violent gust rattled the metal shutter. Had it been her own room, she would have gotten out of the bed, closed the window and gone back to sleep. But the arm around her waist and the enveloping heat of a man behind her reminded her that she wasn't in her own room.

The breeze was cool on her face and she closed her eyes again, relishing how each gust lightly ruffled her hair and chilled the tip of her nose. How they had ended up like this, she didn't know – there had been at least a foot of space between them when last she closed her eyes – but regardless of how she had ended up in his arms, she was grateful for it. She pressed her body closer against the sleeping Satedan's to ward off the chill and, to her surprise, he tightened his grip around her. His hand, at first on her waist, moved to the valley between her breasts, causing her heartbeat to quicken. She hoped he couldn't feel it.

Though stormy waves and ferocious gales of wind battered the outer walls of the city, she had never felt safer than she did in that moment, huddled in his leather-scented warmth and sleeping embrace. She started drifting off again, as though there were no tropical storm raging around them.

Before long, she found herself once again on the edge of sleep, warm and protected, when his hand began to ever so lightly knead at her breast. Her eyes shot open at the sensation, but she remained still. With her backside already in close contact with his lap, she could feel his slow but steady arousal growing and pressing up against her. Then, he spoke.

"'Lena," he mumbled, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

He was dreaming.

"Melena," he repeated, grasping her breast again with surprising dormant strength.

Paralyzed, she didn't know how to react. A large part of her wanted to shake him awake, slap him across the face, and remind him that her name was Emma and that she wasn't there for anything other than sleep. That if she wanted to be accosted, she'd go knock on Captain Hanson's door. But a smaller, more primitive part of her wanted to lean her hips into his lap, arch her back against him, and make the rest of herself available for him to feel and caress. Before she could decide, he spoke again.

"No," he said in what could only be called a whimper. It was a sound she never thought she would have heard from him.

His hand had stopped exploring her chest and was now clenched into a fist. His head twitched roughly from behind hers.

"No, Melena, no."

He continued with a chorus of painful pleas until her heart couldn't take it any longer. She turned around in his arms to face him and watched his eyelids flicker in violent reverie. Bringing a gentle hand to his cheek, she spoke his name.

His eyes flashed open and bore directly into hers, making her heart skip more than a single beat. Within a couple seconds, she saw confusion turn to recognition turn to disappointment; that it was her and not Melena in his arms.

"You were having a nightmare," she whispered.

He looked away and she removed her hand from his cheek. "I'm sorry," he grumbled. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head.

"Did I…" He took a few steadying breaths as he oriented himself. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Did I say anything?"

Their eyes met again and she hesitated. "No," she breathed.

He swallowed hard and nodded, then lifted his head to look toward the balcony where the wind was howling. He got out of the bed to close the window, but when he returned to his side of the mattress, he lay on his other side with his back to her.

"'Night, Rogers," he said. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Oh, it's okay," she squeaked as she attempted to keep any emotion out of her voice. "Good night."

Latching the window helped shelter them from the elements, yet somehow it felt even colder on Emma's side of the bed. She drew the furs up to her chin and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the rapid beat of her heart, the dying, pulsating warmth between her thighs brought on by his touch, and inexplicable regret that her name was not the one he called in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all aren't getting tired of this bed sharing stuff because I LIVE for it! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	51. Apples and Bananas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon heads to breakfast, wondering if he'll run into Dr. Rogers, and memories of the night before bleed into the day.

Though there were many things Ronon would never understand about Earth culture, he had to admit that they knew one thing particularly well: food. The smell of bacon, eggs, and maple syrup grew stronger as he approached the mess hall, eventually overpowering the scent of lavender that he was starting to worry had taken up permanent residence in his nostrils.

Maybe he would run into Rogers at breakfast this morning, though a part of him wished he wouldn't; her departure from his quarters not an hour earlier had been awkward to say the least.

She had awakened much later than him – not surprising, given how little she had apparently slept over the past few days – forty-five minutes to be precise, and he had counted each of them, from the moment the first rays of sunlight had passed through his window telling his body it was time to rise. For three quarters of an hour, he had tried his best to lie perfectly still so as not to wake her prematurely and cause her to lose the sleep she so desperately needed. This proved beyond difficult, however, not only because his bed wasn't really intended for two, but also because she was sleeping directly on his chest.

That _did_ surprise him. After waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in the cold sweat of nostalgic longing turned nightmare, he had been careful to keep his distance from her as they fell back to sleep. After all, he remembered how that dream had begun, with not only the idea of Melena in his mind, but with the very real feel of her soft and warm in his hands, before it had been hijacked by memories of the Wraith. Of course, it hadn't been Melena's body he had reached for in his dream, but Emma's.

He had assumed that sleeping back to back, completely turned away from one another, would have discouraged any further contact between them, but the night must have been cold for there she slept, one of her legs draped over his, the humid heat from between her legs radiating against his hip. Her hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt and her breasts were pressed against his torso, her head tucked between his neck and his shoulder. And though she clung to him like iron to a lodestone, her embrace didn't go unrequited. Upon awakening, he realized one of his hands had found its way around her thigh while the other, less wanton in its placement, softly cradled her head. It had been over a decade since he'd woken up in such an intimate position with a woman. He knew she would be mortified if she woke up like this, practically half on top of him, and he had debated shifting her away but…there was something deeply reassuring about feeling her body so heavy and trusting against his. And so he lay there, listening to her breathe, feeling her muscles occasionally twitch or her eyelashes brush softly against his neck as her eyes fluttered with dreams.

She needed the sleep and so he waited as long as he could, until the last possible second, before the pressures of the day finally closed in on him. He had things to do and, undoubtedly, so did she. Moreover, if both of them were late or missing from their posts…he didn't want to think about what kind of trouble that would cause her. As much as he didn't want to, he knew he needed to wake her . He released an exaggerated cough and the sound, combined with the sudden rise of his chest, did the trick.

Her first waking seconds had been a mixture of dreamy disorientation and, dare he say it, contentment, if the soft smile she let slip as she opened her eyes to him were any indication. The smile disappeared as soon as it formed, though, and the rest of her stay evaporated within seconds. She practically leapt out of the bed, asking if she could change clothes in his bathroom as the automatic door slid shut. It took her less than a minute to dress and she was at the door to the hallway before he had even gotten all the way up.

"You're not gonna avoid me again today, are you?" he asked, seated on the edge of the bed as she lifted her hand over the door sensor.

He meant for the question to break the sudden waking tension between them, but based on the way she looked at him over her shoulder, it seemed as though it had had the opposite effect.

"Of course not."

He supposed this would be the first test of whether she meant it or not.

As he filled up his tray with nearly every breakfast item available, he began to come to terms with the fact that maybe there was a greater part of him that actually _would_ like to see her here. He glanced about the room, registering the number of people, the tables both taken and empty, the accessibility of the exits until he saw Sheppard, as agreed, sitting at one of the far tables, drinking a cup of coffee and solving a Sudoku puzzle. Wading through the morning breakfast rush, he took the seat opposite him.

Sheppard raised his mug in greeting. "Mornin.'"

"Hey." He unrolled the utensils from the napkin and, as was their usual custom, began eating in companionable silence as Sheppard continued to work on his puzzle.

From where he sat, he had a comprehensive view of the mess hall. There was a group of scientists all from the same place on Earth huddled together at a table near them, lively discussing something polarizing in their own language. Across the room, several marines had pushed two tables together and were apparently on their second or third helpings of breakfast, judging by the growing stack of dirty plates accumulating in the center. Captain Hanson was one of them, rising from his spot at the head of the table and laughing with the two men who flanked him. Lieutenant Williams, he noticed, sat at the opposite end, as far from his commanding officer as possible. McKay was near the buffet, pointing wildly at the fruit salad and arguing with one of the cooks. But there was no sign of Rogers.

Avoidance it was going to be, then.

"Hey Sheppard?"

"Hm?" he replied, eyes still glued to his puzzle.

"I've been thinking…"

"Rather uncharacteristic of you," Sheppard murmured, finally looking up.

Ronon raised an eyebrow at him and cleared his throat. "We need to go back to that planet with Janus' lab."

"Woolsey denied the request already."

"Ask him again."

"He's not going to change his mind."

"So change it for him."

Sheppard let out a sigh and set his puzzle book on the table.

"And what would you –"

"Those idiots," McKay hissed as he dropped his tray with a clatter onto the table. "This is the fifth time I've had to talk to them about putting grapefruit in the fruit salad."

"It's labeled pretty clearly, Rodney," Sheppard argued. "In capital letters. You can read, can't you?

"Ha ha. Of course I can read." He yanked the chair out and sat. "It's the principle of the matter. You don't ruin perfectly good produce by throwing citrus in along with it!"

Sheppard shrugged. "It's a preservative – keeps the apples from turning brown."

"It's psychotic, is what it is." He shoved the edge of his napkin into the collar of his shirt. "And you know what? They didn't even have a proper alternative made for me. This," he held up a banana, "_this_ is what they gave me instead. Can you believe that?"

Ronon shared a mischievous look with Sheppard.

"You wanted a bigger one?" Ronon asked.

McKay dropped the banana onto the table and waggled an admonishing finger at them. "Children. You two are nothing but overgrown children."

"Here, Rodney. Take my apple," Sheppard said. "You can make your own fruit salad."

"Take mine, too." Ronon set his apple on McKay's tray.

"And we'll just…put that there," Sheppard placed one of the apples at the base of the banana, "and that right there," he added the other apple next to the first one.

Ronon snorted at the rude shape Sheppard had created.

"Bon appetit," he said, smiling at McKay.

"And this, my son, is why your mother does not allow you to play with your food."

Sheppard jumped so violently at the sound of Teyla's voice that he bumped the edge of table, which sent one of the apples rolling across the floor. Torren closely followed its path with wide and clear eyes.

"Teyla!" Sheppard pulled a chair out for her. "Wasn't expecting you this morning."

"Clearly," she said shortly. She refused the seat, but there was still a genial glimmer in her eyes. She shifted Torren from her hip to both hands and turned to Ronon. "Do you mind?"

"What?" he sputtered, alarmed.

"I have yet to take anything for breakfast," she leaned forward and deposited the child into Ronon's lap, "and would enjoy the use of both of my arms as I go through the line. Try not to be too much of a negative influence on his young, impressionable mind." She directed her last sentence specifically to the colonel.

She walked away and Ronon flinched preemptively, expecting the boy to start wailing, but instead he looked him straight in the eyes and tugged on his beard.

Was this the first time he had ever held Torren? Dr. Beckett held the kid all the time, Sheppard had done it a few times, even McKay had once before…though only once as it hadn't ended well. Hell, even Woolsey would hold him occasionally. For whatever reason, though, Ronon had never been compelled to hold him, never felt the desire to do so. It wasn't that he didn't like Torren; after all, he was half Teyla and he was pretty damn fond of her. He supposed he had never offered to take the baby out of a fear of hurting him; Torren was so small, so fragile and Ronon was anything but. But now, as he struggled to find the best way to balance the boy on his knee, he wondered if he had never held him because, deep down, he figured he didn't need the practice. Fatherhood was a chapter that had been ripped out of the book of his life. Or so he had thought.

Torren's eyes were a deep brown, almost black color, but as he stared back at them, all he could picture were Eva's. He wondered if they had always been the color they were now, the same color as his own, or if they slowly changed over the years. Was she born with that intense gaze of hers, or was it something she had learned? Something she had learned from him?

The boy seized of Ronon's dreadlocks in his tiny fist and put the bead that surrounded it into his mouth.

"Whoa!" Ronon exclaimed, extracting his hair from Torren's gums. "No no no."

Torren's brown-black eyes glossed over and his lower lip started to tremble. He glanced from side to side, the realization that his mother had left suddenly dawning upon him.

"Hey, there," Ronon said in as soft a voice as he could manage as he started to bounce his knee up and down. "She's coming back. Don't…do that. Don't cry."

He tried his best to pacify the increasingly agitated child until Teyla returned, just in time to prevent a total meltdown, with a plate full of food.

"Thank you, Ronon," she said as she took Torren from him and sat him in her lap.

The tradeoff left him feeling a bit strange; Torren had been much heavier and much warmer than he thought he would have been and his absence made Ronon almost feel off balance. Torren, on the other hand, couldn't have been happier with the return to normalcy. The second he was back in his mother's arms, his face lit up, his tears disappeared, and he was smiling up at her.

There was a deep ache from within his chest as he watched their interaction and thought this time not of Eva the girl, but of her namesake, his own mother. He hadn't been much older than Torren when she was taken. And how old had she been? He had never asked, never wanted to know how many decades the Wraith had stolen from her.

Had she been younger than Teyla? Definitely. Most Satedans had their children at an early age and Ronon was her firstborn. Had she been younger than he was now? Most likely. The memories of her face were foggy, idealized through time and longing, blurred by his own early age at the time of her death. Nevertheless, he couldn't recall a single line on her face nor any grey in her hair. Her eyes had that brightness of youth and her skin glowed with the clarity of new motherhood. Realistically, she had probably been in her early to mid-twenties, closer in age to someone like… Dr. Rogers.

"You been talkin' with Ronon this morning, McKay?"

Ronon was stirred from his thoughts at the mention of his name.

McKay gave him a contemptuous look. "Oh yes. Ronon and I had a lovely chat over coffee as we watched the sunrise together on the East Pier this morning."

Ronon crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at Sheppard.

"So that's why you were late this morning," Sheppard speculated. "And here I thought you had just slept in."

"Please," McKay said through a large bite of banana. "Ronon doesn't sleep in." He gave a half shrug. "Probably had some girl with him last night and couldn't get her to leave."

Every once in a while, McKay could be eerily prophetic with his offhand comments and this particular instance sent a little flare of panic through Ronon's gut. "What do you mean has McKay been talking to me?"

"We've been here for ten minutes, I haven't even finished my coffee or my puzzle, and yet both of you have asked me to talk to Woolsey to get us the go-ahead to return to M5R-233. So either you've both been talking to Rogers or you've been talking to each other. Because as far as I knew, she was the one spearheading that campaign."

"Actually, it was Eva." Ronon heard his words as they came out of his mouth. A bit too loud. A bit too fast. He cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair and tried to act cool, but he knew the others had sensed his unnecessary defensiveness. "I sparred with her last night. She uh…she made some good arguments about going back there."

"Finally wore you down, huh?" Sheppard asked, playing along, but there was a glint of mischief in his eye.

Ronon shrugged. "It's time for her to go home."

"For what it is worth, I too, believe a return mission would be beneficial," Teyla said.

"Look, guys, I got nothing for it or against it. A mission's a mission. Even a risky one. But you really think Woolsey will listen to me?"

"You are the chief ranking military officer of this expedition," Teyla said.

Sheppard rubbed his chin. "Yeah. I was kinda hoping you wouldn't remind me of that."

"Perhaps if we approach him as a team, as a united front, he will reconsider."

"I don't know Teyla –"

"Reconnaissance 1 and Dr. Beckett to the conference room immediately. Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, Teyla, Ronon, and Dr. Beckett to the conference room."

They all looked at each other in surprise as the announcement finished.

"Guess we'll find out sooner rather than later," said McKay as Sheppard stood and drained his coffee cup.

Ronon made moves to follow, but noticed Teyla had remained seated. He glanced at her face, to the full plate of food in front of her, then to Torren.

"I shall have to meet you there," she said. "I must call Kanaan."

"Just bring him," Ronon said, nodding to Torren.

"He has yet to finish his breakfast –"

"Hang on." He strode over to the buffet line and caught the eye of one of the young female workers. "Hey," he said in greeting. "You got a box?"

"Yeah. Yes. Of course," she said, spinning on her heel and standing on the tips of her toes to reach the top of the tall stack of cardboard boxes.

"Thanks," he said, adding a smile for good measure.

The woman blushed and let out a squeaky, "No worries," in response.

Back at the table, he slid the contents of Teyla's plate into the box and pocketed a roll up of utensils from the empty table nearby.

Teyla raised a chiding eyebrow at him.

"What? I'll bring 'em back."

She smiled up at him, secured Torren to her hip and followed McKay and Sheppard to the conference room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my stupid stupid chapter title. (Though it does make me giggle.)


	52. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma musters up the courage to tell Woolsey about what happened in her quarters the night before.

She hesitated for a moment outside his doorway, but mustered up her courage, took a deep breath, and knocked on the glass.

He looked up from his desk and stood to greet her. "Dr. Rogers. Come in, come in."

Returning his own welcoming smile with a tentative one, she made her way into his office.

It was a spacious, open room, and one she hardly ever spent time in. The first time she had visited this office was when Colonel Carter had been in charge of the expedition. The room had felt smaller, somehow, when it belonged to Carter. Framed photos of her team and family members had crowded every shelf, each nook and cranny filled with some sort of fascinating artifact or interior plant. She had even brought decorative pillows for the upholstered chairs. Woolsey, on the other hand, was a minimalist. It wasn't that the room now lacked personality – there was a framed photo of a Yorkshire Terrier behind the desk, an old set of Shakespeare's complete works on the bookshelf – but it certainly felt emptier.

Emma found their contrasting decorating styles particularly odd, considering how much time Carter had spent behind that desk in comparison to Woolsey. When Carter was head of the expedition, they jokingly called her Colonel Capone because she was notoriously difficult to find; at any given moment, she might have been in the physics lab with McKay and Zelenka, or in the Jumper Bay making repairs, or even off-world assisting a team, rarely was she ever in her office. Maybe, Emma suspected, Carter's attempts to make the office feel more homey were part of an effort to make the time she spent in it more bearable. Mr. Woolsey, on the contrary, possessed a natural passion for desk work and bureaucracy. Perhaps it didn't matter much to him what his workspace looked like; as long as he had a desk, paper, and pen, he would get the work done and dare she say it, he would enjoy doing so.

"How can I help you?" Woolsey asked.

She glanced over his shoulder and down to the gate room, to the technicians' deck across the way, then to the security guards stationed on the main staircase, and found herself despising her boss's paired down decorating choices. With nothing else around them, she felt like some specimen at a museum, on full display through the glass for anyone who cared to look. Reminding herself that she couldn't blame the actual transparent construction of the room on anyone but the Ancients, she tried to reframe her attitude toward Woolsey before she spoke.

"Do you mind if we close the door?" she asked.

Others might be able to see her, but she sure as hell didn't want anyone hearing her.

Mr. Woolsey gestured to the doorway. "I'm afraid my office isn't equipped with actual doors. Really takes 'open-door' policy to a new level, doesn't it?"

She let out a huff of air in place of a laugh.

"What's on your mind, Doctor?" He gestured for her to take a seat, which she did, albeit reluctantly.

Another difference. Had it still been Carter in his place, she would have suggested they sit on the soft upholstered chairs – not across from each other, but next to each other. But Woolsey clearly preferred both the formality and the protection of keeping a desk between them.

"I, um…I had a request for you."

He gave her a pitying smile. "Now Doctor, if this is about M5R-233 –"

"It's not," she said quickly.

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a quizzical look.

"It's…more personal than that." She looked down at her hands in her lap and folded them tight to keep them from trembling. Oh, how she wished she had one of Carter's decorative cushions to hug to her chest right now.

"Everything all right, Doctor?"

It was like jumping into a cold pool. Best to do it all at once than to wade in little by little.

"I think someone came into my quarters last night."

Woolsey's eyebrows rose above the frames of his glasses. "Uninvited?"

She nodded. "It happened while I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, so I didn't hear anything, but when I came out of the bathroom…" she took another deep breath, "there was a vase full of flowers on my desk."

"Flowers?"

"Yes. With a note to me on them. And they weren't there before I went into the bathroom."

"Why didn't you radio someone to you immediately?" He started jabbing his tablet with the stylus.

There it was. The part she dreaded the most. The "why didn't you say something sooner?" The part where this was somehow her fault, and not the fault of the man who had broken into her bedroom.

"I got so worked up about it that I had an asthma attack," she answered truthfully. "I wasn't really able to radio anyone."

"Beckett didn't mention anything this morning about you visiting the infirmary."

Her hands curled against each other in her lap. What was this? An interrogation? Did he not believe her?

"I didn't go to the infirmary," she said curtly. "I had my medication."

In spite of her biting tone, he didn't look up from the tablet. "I'm looking at last night's radio logs and it looks like you made a call to…Ronon's channel around 22:30?"

"I—I thought the flowers had maybe come from him." It sounded ever so pathetic when actually said out loud.

"But didn't you just say you didn't have time to radio anyone?"

She opened her mouth to clarify, but he cut her off.

"You think Ronon was the one who broke into your room?" This time, he did look at her and once again, his eyebrows looked like they were playing leapfrog with the top of his glasses.

"No. No, it wasn't him."

Both of her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. She hadn't told anyone about her feelings toward Ronon, not even her closest friends, and Woolsey would definitely be at the bottom of her list of confidants. This was all to say nothing of the fact that those feelings were so clearly unreciprocated; it was mortifying to admit that she even, if momentarily, considered the flowers to be a gift from him.

The waking look he had given her the night before played again in her memory, that expression of unmitigated hope which had soured so quickly into disappointment. There was no doubting that the man was in love with a ghost. Any bouquet of flowers that came into Ronon's possession were more likely to find their way to a tombstone than to her front door.

Woolsey seemed to have recovered from the shock of suspecting Ronon capable of such a crime as breaking and entering into a young woman's room and tactfully carried on. "Yes, well, I suppose flowers wouldn't be Ronon's style anyway. Presenting you with an animal carcass or a severed Wraith finger, maybe."

Emma laughed in spite of herself, appreciating the humor. "I was just hoping that maybe you could pull up the security camera footage and see if the person was caught on camera?"

"Of course," he said, already opening a new window on his tablet. "Around what time did this occur?"

"Around 10 PM. South pier. Floor 4."

"22:00? But you didn't make the call to Ronon until a full thirty minutes later?"

"Thereabouts. I'm not really sure when it happened. I was in the bathroom for a while." Once again, the heat rose to her cheeks. "I have a very involved skincare routine."

"Hm. I see." He scrolled through several sets of files, seemingly unable to find the correct one. "You'll have to forgive me," he muttered, clearly struggling with the interface. "Someone in our security department would be much more adept at this."

Emma's heart skipped. "I'd rather this be kept between you and me, sir."

Nodding absentmindedly, he continued scrolling. "Aha! Here it is." He shifted the tablet so she could take a look but the screen was blank – completely black. "That's odd," he murmured. "Allow me to check something else."

Even from her upside-down view of his tablet, she could see all the security thumbnails stacked in a grid. He clicked on one, but it was another black screen. Then another. And another.

"The power outage," he said under his breath. "The complications from last night's power outage must have shorted out the cameras for a couple hours."

There was an awful sinking sensation in her stomach.

"What a terrible coincidence," he whispered. "Perhaps when they rebooted…"

"Yes." She heard herself say the word but felt suddenly removed from every part of her body, like she was floating above, watching herself from several feet back.

There was no evidence. No trace of him entering her room.

"Perhaps we should post a guard outside your room for the foreseeable future." He brought his finger to his earpiece.

"No," she barked. "That won't be necessary. I'll just…stay with a friend for the next few nights."

"Nonsense. You've brought a complaint to my attention and it will be dealt with appropriately." He finally set the tablet onto the desk and regarded her intensely through his rimless spectacles. "Now…do you have any idea who it was that might have entered your quarters? Anyone you've recently argued with? Or perhaps the opposite? Anyone you've been recently involved with?" He gave an awkward cough. "Romantically, I mean?"

The name caught in her throat. The captain. She knew it. It was him. The note was proof. So then why couldn't she say it?

"Mr. Woolsey?"

The sound of the technician's voice made her jump.

"Sir, there's something you need to see."

He gestured toward Emma. "I'm in the middle of an important matter. Can it wait?"

"Afraid not, sir. We've detected a Wraith Cruiser on our long-range scanners."

"A Cruiser? You're sure?" he asked, swiveling that singular gaze onto the new messenger.

"Yes, sir."

"I see." He stared at the wall for the briefest of seconds as he gathered his thoughts. "Call Sheppard and his team to the conference room immediately," he said as he got to his feet. "Oh! And Dr. Beckett, too."

"Yes, sir."

He straightened the papers on his desk into a folder, which he took with him as he started to leave his office. "My apologies, Doctor. You understand."

"Of - of course," she stammered.

"Unfortunately, it looks like there are other pressing matters which will soon require my undivided attention."

She nodded, numbly.

"But I'll make sure security is aware of your complaint and they can take it from there."

"No. Sir –"

She got up to follow him, to stop him, to purge the name still on the tip of her tongue, but he had already left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnn. What do you think? Should she have gone to Woolsey? Thank you for reading and reviewing, everyone! You're great.


	53. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woolsey calls the team and Dr. Beckett to an emergency meeting where they devise a plan to help protect their city.

By the time Ronon and Teyla entered the conference room, Sheppard and McKay were already seated, casually chatting with Dr. Beckett about some of the new medical staff who had gated in a couple weeks ago as part of the group of new recruits. Teyla left Ronon's side and immediately resumed feeding Torren his breakfast, which the boy wolfed down with alacrity. Ronon took an empty spot next to Sheppard, rolling his eyes at the subject of their conversation.

"The big man over here is actually quite familiar with most of them already," Beckett said.

"Is he now?" Sheppard pinned him with a look that somehow came across as both accusatory and impressed.

Ronon opened his mouth to defend himself, but Beckett got there first. "Och, not like that. He's always needing to be patched up for something or another."

"I need to get injured more frequently…" Sheppard muttered.

"That could be arranged," Ronon said with leer.

"And what is their projected ETA, should they stay on course?" The voice coming from the corridor was distant, but there was no mistaking that it was Woolsey's.

"At its current rate? I'd say between ten and fourteen days, sir."

"I see."

"Whose projected ETA?" McKay asked, jumping in on the end of the conversation between Woolsey and the telemetry technician.

Woolsey took a deep breath, the kind he always took before delivering bad news. "I'm afraid that our long-range scanners have detected a Wraith Cruiser heading toward this corner of the galaxy."

"A Cruiser? Not a Hive?" Sheppard asked.

"Correct. And it appears to be moving through hyperspace faster than any Cruiser – or Hive, for that matter – that we've ever encountered."

"Just one?" Sheppard confirmed. "A lone Cruiser?"

"Yes, Colonel."

Sheppard looked round the table at his audience. "Well, we can take down one Cruiser, no problem. Put me in the chair and we're good to go."

"We have reason to believe this is no ordinary Cruiser." Woolsey took his seat and planted his hands on the table. "I think this particular Cruiser belongs to the Wraith that took Eva as a runner and from whom we liberated Janus."

"What makes you say that?" Ronon asked.

"In addition to its possession of an enhanced hyperdrive, it seems to be coming from the same area of the galaxy as M5R-233, which – I don't need to remind you – was its last known location."

"Isn't this all a bit of a hunch?" McKay asked. "We detect Wraith ships on our long-range scanners all the time. I mean, space is big…

"Really big," Sheppard said.

"Theoretically, they shouldn't even know where we are. How do we know they're headed directly our way?"

"We don't, but the timing and trajectory seem likely and I'm not willing to take any risks. Based on both your account and Eva's of this particular Cruiser, I am unsure if we could defend our city against it."

"It could see straight through the cloak of the Puddle Jumper," Teyla reminded them.

"Exactly. Doctor Beckett." Woolsey turned his attention to him.

The doctor raised his eyebrows, caught off guard at being so suddenly addressed. "Yes?"

"What is the Ancient's status?"

"Currently in the medically induced coma. He still has dangerously high levels of the Wraith enzyme in his system, though the levels _are_ decreasing, nominally, every day."

"Can you pull him out of it?"

He shook his head. "It would be unwise. Essentially, we're treating his condition like a massive drug overdose. His body has been reliant on the Wraith enzyme for so long that his body cannot function without it. Removing it as suddenly as we did caused a whole host of life-threatening issues for the poor man."

"So, he's going cold turkey?" Sheppard asked.

With an unsettling chill that raced up his spine, Ronon recalled his own battle against the enzyme. He wouldn't wish that pain or humiliation on anyone other than those who had inflicted it upon him.

"Aye. Unfortunately. I'm afraid Lieutenant Ford cleaned out my entire supply of the enzyme a couple years ago. We've been pumping a cocktail of other narcotics into his blood in an attempt to replace or replicate it, but they're not as effective as we'd hoped."

"Wraith methadone?" Sheppard joked.

"Something like that, aye."

"And what are the risks of pulling him out of the coma?" Woolsey asked.

"Well, death… to start with," Beckett bluntly said. "We placed him into the coma not only to prevent him from feeling any pain, but also to protect his brain from any damage that heavy withdrawal might cause. While in the coma, his brain operates at such a low level of activity that the risk of damage to it is low. But if we were to wake him, the sudden increase in brain activity combined with the shock from the lack of the enzyme could cause an aneurysm." His eyes flicked toward Ronon's for the briefest of seconds. "And that's not even taking the extreme pain or seizures into consideration. It would be inhumane, sir, to pull him out of it at this point in time."

Woolsey sat silent for a moment, thinking.

"If we were able to harvest more enzyme and you could administer it as part of a gradually-reducing regimen, could you safely take him out of the coma within the next ten days?"

Beckett looked into the distance and shrugged a shoulder. "Aye, I suppose it's a possibility. But like I said, we don't have any on hand."

Sheppard leaned toward Woolsey in his seat. "Sir, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"Atlantis is currently harboring two individuals this Wraith clearly wants back under his control: Janus and Eva. It's no surprise that he's on his way to take back what he believes we stole. And if we plan on holding them off or defeating them, I would rather have the Ancient on our side than unconscious in a hospital bed. God knows how much time he spent on that Cruiser; he's bound to know all about not only its capabilities, but its weaknesses, as well. We need his help, which means we need him out of that coma."

"Couple of days ago, you said we just had to be patient and wait for him to wake up," Ronon reminded him.

"The situation was different," Woolsey said in a clipped tone. "We had the luxury of time. Now we do not." He turned to the technician. "Compile a list of planets with known or suspected Wraith outposts. I'll need it on my desk within the next two hours."

The technician nodded obediently and left the room.

"Dr. Beckett, how much of the enzyme would you need to safely wean Janus off of it?"

He let out small laugh. "How much can you get?" He shrugged his shoulders. "At least 500 CCs. The average Wraith enzyme gland contains about twenty-five."

"Colonel, I'd like you to assemble a strike force," Woolsey said. "Once we decide where you're going, it will be your mission to collect as much Wraith enzyme as you can."

"You've gotta be kidding me!" McKay interjected. "Just yesterday, you refused Rogers's and my request to mount a second mission back to M5R-233 due to the risks. Now we're planning to just waltz into Wraith-controlled territory, kill 20 of them, and come back with beakers full of enzyme? That's insanity."

"No one said you had to be part of the strike team, Rodney," Sheppard said in a low voice.

"The difference between the two, Dr. McKay, is that we had reason to suspect the Wraith would be expecting you back on M5R-233. And based on how long they waited before turning their course toward us, I think it's safe to say they were, in fact, doing exactly that." Woolsey picked up his pen and stared at it as he spoke. "With this plan, we can count on the element of surprise. Not to mention, there won't be anything to interfere with our Puddle Jumpers or other Ancient technology. Speaking of which, McKay – I suggest you bring that personal cloak along with you. It may prove useful. We'll meet again at 13:00 hours."

Woolsey got up and left, leaving the rest of the team to contend with the new and radical plan.

"All right," Sheppard sighed, flipping a folder over and putting his pen to the back of it. "What do you think, Chewie? You, me, Teyla…"

Ronon nodded in agreement, not needing Sheppard to explain what he was already doing. He glanced over to Teyla who held a now sleeping Torren tight to her chest, softly brushing little tufts of hair out of his face.

"Teyla, you're in, right?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes," she replied softly, so as not to wake her child. She kissed him softly atop his head. "Of course."

How did she do it, Ronon wondered? Willingly put herself into insanely dangerous situations, all the while knowing how much her son depended on her?

"Rodney, you sounded pretty reluctant about the mission. You want to sit this one out?"

"Believe me when I say I would enjoy nothing more. But…you may run into Wraith technology or need help with the personal cloak or –"

"Great! You're in." He scribbled McKay's name onto the folder. "Who else you think?" Sheppard directed his attention back to Ronon. "Lorne's team?"

He agreed. "But Rivers is on leave; you'd need someone to fill in for him."

Nodding slowly, Sheppard clicked his pen as he thought. "What about Hanson? Could be a good idea to have a marine with us."

Ronon felt a small snap in his chest, as though a mousetrap had been set off. "No."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows at the strength of Ronon's disagreement. "He's a big guy. Well-trained in hand-to-hand. Good shot, good with a knife."

Ronon shook his head. "He's base security. Doesn't have the field experience."

"He did two tours in Iraq –"

"He doesn't have enough experience against the Wraith."

Sheppard shrugged. "Fair enough. I guess if the city's defenses need bolstering, he should be here to oversee the preparations anyway." He sat there for a moment, fiddling with the pen in his fingers before fixing Ronon with a long stare. "What about…"

"What about who?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"What about the kid?"

Whatever Ronon had been expecting Sheppard to say, it wasn't that. "Eva?"

Sheppard raised a shoulder. "After you, she's probably got a higher Wraith kill count than any of us."

"She's just a kid."

"She's a Runner, Ronon."

He bit down on the nail of his thumb as he considered it. Logically, he knew Sheppard was right. With his own eyes, he had seen how, despite starvation and utter exhaustion, she had managed to bring down a seasoned Wraith hunter with only a dagger in hand. He had seen her successfully handle a semi-automatic in the heat of battle. He had seen the fire in her eyes, wild like a forest blaze fueled by the wind when they sparred.

But he had also remembered how small and frail she had looked on the floor of the Puddle Jumper as they deactivated her scanner, how little she weighed when he lifted and placed her onto the hospital bed after they sedated her, how she sometimes wore her hair in two long plaits like a school girl.

Before he realized it, his eyes had found their way back to Torren. With a tiny sound that came from the back of his throat, the boy yawned in his sleep and burrowed himself further into his mother's chest.

Ronon eventually gave Sheppard a non-committal shrug. "You're in charge. You make the call."

Sheppard tapped the folder a few times on the table. "See, I would…but _you're_ the one who needs to sign the permission slip for this little field trip."


	54. Blackmail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon wants to talk with Emma, but someone else visits her instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Typical dickish Hanson shenanigans. If his previous intimidation chapter bothered you, this one probably will too. :/

Her vision blurred as her eyelids, heavy with fatigue, slowly dropped and closed in surrender. Maybe if she rested them…if only for a moment…

The faint glow of her tablet, the clacking of keys, even the uncomfortable strain in her neck all faded away as she slipped into the land of dreams. Everything darkened and the harsh light from the fluorescents above softened to moonlight. She could smell leather and candle smoke, could feel the furs against her cheek, could hear his voice in her ear.

"Rogers?"

Her eyes fluttered open and the sight that met them at first confused her – stacks of books, a large whiteboard, and…_Alan_?

She blinked hard and reabsorbed her surroundings. Without a doubt, she was in her lab. She had even pinched herself to make sure. But if that was the case, then why had Ronon's voice felt so real? So close?

"Rogers?"

There he was again. In her ear.

"Rogers, can you hear me?"

Of course. Her earpiece.

She tapped the side of it. "Y-yes," she stammered. "I can hear you. Go ahead."

"I need to talk to you."

Her stomach did a cartwheel. "You? Need to talk to me? About what?"

"Are you in your lab?"

"I am."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Alan had looked up from his work and was eyeing her suspiciously from across the room. She hoped he hadn't noticed her midmorning catnap. This was the third time she had fallen asleep at her desk in about as many days. One time alone would have been unprofessional at best, but three times? It was enough grounds to temporarily remove her from duty.

"Actually," she said into her earpiece, "I think it's about time I took a break. There's a balcony two corridors down from the linguistics lab. Do you know which one I'm talking about? The one that faces the Southwest Pier?"

"Yeah."

"How about you meet me there instead?"

"Fine."

The connection went dead, but it didn't elude her that he hadn't told her what it was they suddenly needed to discuss.

"Well fine," she whispered to herself.

She yawned and stretched almost painfully, spending a few extra seconds to roll out the knot in her neck.

"Taking a break?" Alan asked as she made her way to the coffee pot.

"Mhmm." She poured the coffee nearly to the brim of her ceramic mug. It was a simple white one with the phrase _There's a chance this is tequila_ stamped on it in black typewriter font. "I can hardly keep my eyes open. Maybe some fresh air will wake me up."

"Another long night?" he asked with an insinuating wink.

She waggled a finger at him as she added sugar and cream with her other hand. "Don't you dare start with that again."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'll quit it. Enjoy your break."

Coffee in hand, she walked down the corridor toward the small balcony that overlooked the Southwest Pier. It was unseasonably cool and the ocean was still choppy below due to the previous night's monsoon. Little puddles that hadn't yet evaporated dotted the floor of the terrace and cold, clear droplets of rain and seawater clung to the railings.

The ocean air stung her eyes and made them water, sensitive as they were from lack of sleep, and her heart was thrumming in her chest. She hated feeling like this – physically exhausted but so hyped up on caffeine, steroids, and adrenaline that she couldn't fully let go. Glancing dubiously at the brown liquid in her cup, she took a long sip. A bad idea, perhaps, but it was cold and the coffee was deliciously warm.

With her mug warming her trembling hands, she took a few steps forward and leaned over the railing to watch the waves. This view was the same day after day, and yet it never seemed to get old. She wondered if that was what spouses thought of one another after years of marriage. You wake up to the same person every morning but never tire of their face. Some days it's calm and serene, other days it's agitated and roiling, but always familiar, always beautiful.

It wasn't long before she heard approaching footsteps. An unbidden smile came to her lips as she turned to greet him.

"Now there's a view."

The mug fell from her hands and hit the floor, shattering and splashing hot coffee everywhere.

"Oh shit. Here, let me help you with that."

If her heart was thrumming before, now it was hammering, as she backed into the space where the railing met the wall.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked the Captain as he bent to the ground and began picking up the broken pieces.

"I thought I'd come and check on you."

"Check on me? What are you talking about?"

"I just got word from Woolsey that you had a security issue last night?"

"You know damn well that I did," she snarled, taking a small step forward. "What you did was –"

He looked up at her with a professional expression of concern masking his face, but there was a cold glint in his eyes. "Sounds like Ronon Dex may have broken into your room?"

"What?" The question came out as hardly more than a puff of air, like the wind had been knocked out of her.

He stood up from the ceramic mess and shifted his attention to the tablet in his hand. "Unfortunately, some of our security cameras went down last night due to the power outage. We think it might have had something to do with the monsoon that's passing through," he said, waving vaguely at their surroundings. "The cameras on Floor 4 of the South Corridor were some of those affected at the time you say the incident occurred, but luckily a few in the East Pier rebooted pretty quickly. You may want to take a look at this." He offered her the tablet.

Hesitantly, she took the screen into her hands and watched. A series of security video clips had been stitched together and were playing on a loop. The first clip began with a pair of transporter doors opening to reveal Ronon and Emma together, his hands steadying her after her dizzy spell. The next clip showed them walking through a corridor together, Ronon in watchful proximity. And finally, there she was leaving Ronon's quarters the next morning – her hair a mess, uniform wrinkled and hastily pulled on, pace urgent.

Confused, she nearly handed the tablet back to Hanson until the tiny white print at the bottom of the screen caught her eye.

"Wait a minute…these location markers are wrong," she said. "All of these say East Pier, but only that last clip is actually from there."

"That can't be." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Like I said, most of the city's cameras were down last night."

She furrowed her brow and looked at the screen again. Damn the Atlantis corridors for all looking the same.

"No," she declared with more certainty. "These first two clips are taken from the West Pier. We were on our way to have dinner together. I'm positive."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I verified this footage myself. Luckily, though, we do have the log of your radio call to Ronon Dex from 22:33."

The clips repeated once more and, on this loop, the time stamps caught her eye.

"Captain, your camera system needs a major reboot. All of these time stamps are wrong, too."

"You think so? Look closer," he said.

22:33. She calls Ronon in a panic about the flowers, asking if they're from him.

22:41. The transporter doors open to show Ronon gripping her tightly by the arms.

22:42. Ronon tails her through the hallway, never letting her stray more than a couple feet away from him.

00:57. She leaves Ronon's quarters, disheveled and distressed.

Like a piano dropping to the sidewalk, the pieces all fell into place.

What _she_ saw in these clips was Ronon's concern for her after her bout of vertigo in the malfunctioning transporter. Without that context, though, it wasn't a stretch for someone to interpret what was playing on the screen as force and coercion. And her exit the next morning, which had been hasty out of pure embarrassment, on video made her look shellshocked and scared. With the smallest amount of editing, the evening she had spent under Ronon's protection had been twisted into a narrative of violence and violation.

"You _cockroach_," she said as she brought the tablet to her chest. "You doctored these! You're doing this to frame him! Our city is under impending attack from the Wraith, but you decided your time this morning would be best spent playing Scorcese?"

"Look," Hanson sighed, "I've been up all night trying to fix the issues from the power outage and you're right – the Wraith's timing isn't ideal. But, I care about you. So I managed to find some time to ask a couple of Dex's neighbors in the East Pier if they heard anything last night that might support what's in those videos."

Her hands were still shaking but she knew it wasn't from the caffeine and it wasn't from fear. She was furious.

"A few of them said they heard loud banging – either on the walls or the door – as well as strange noises, almost like muffled sounds of pain."

Her asthma attack. To anyone who had never witnessed or experienced one before, the sound of her wheezing would definitely have sounded strange.

He glanced at her hands. "And I'd say that those bruises on your wrists seem to corroborate their claims."

"_You_ were the one who gave me these bruises and you know it," she hissed.

"Yeah? And what about that big one on your jaw?"

Taking advantage of her momentary shock, he reached to snatch the tablet from her but, in a movement so instinctual she couldn't believe she actually went through with it, she dropped it over the railing and into the ocean below.

Now it was his turn to be shocked, but he quickly stifled that disbelief and regained his snide composure.

"All of our video footage is backed up to several external hard drives, you know." He stepped closer to her, and her back hit the corner. "Here's the deal, beautiful," he said through his teeth. The sneer on his face disappeared, his eyes narrowed, and the true Captain Hanson emerged. "You keep quiet about last night's little incident and we say it's resolved – a misunderstanding. But if you go running and crying to Woolsey again, he will get a front row screening of that little video and anything else I may find to add to it."

"I don't have a problem going around Woolsey to get you to leave me alone," she threatened. "Ronon –"

"Ronon Dex is a stupid, angry Neanderthal who acts without thinking. He may be part of Sheppard's special little club, but you know perfectly well that his position on this base is tenuous at best. I'll let you imagine the actions the IOA would take if he were to attack a decorated officer of the US military."

Hanson was jealous. All of this was happening because he was jealous of Ronon. But that didn't help the reality of this all-too-familiar situation. Here she was once again with her back against the wall being intimidated by him, with no security camera to catch the interaction.

Then it dawned on her. Hanson was intimately familiar with the locations of all the security cameras in the city and he knew that most balconies, this one included, weren't equipped with one.

"You've been tracking my radio transmissions," she whispered. "You knew I was going to be here, alone and out of sight. You waited for me to leave my lab so you could –"

The corner of his mouth turned upward. "Smart and beautiful."

"Rogers?"

The hammering soared from her chest to her throat at the sound of his voice and the relief she felt was so overwhelming, it made her lightheaded. She looked over Hanson's shoulder to see Ronon standing in the doorway. His eyes volleyed back and forth between the two of them, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

Hanson turned around and Emma finally released the breath she was holding. "Dex. Heard you've been recruited for Woolsey's suicide mission."

"Won't be my first; won't be my last." Ronon's lip curled up in disgust.

Although Emma empathized with Ronon's reaction, she found the immediate strength of it a bit puzzling. Then again, she had never seen them interact.

The two men stared at each other in tense silence until Emma spoke up. "The captain was just leaving. You wanted to talk with me, Ronon?"

"Yeah." He turned his suspicious gaze from Hanson over to her. "In private."

Both Ronon and Emma stared expectantly at the captain, indicating that it was time for him to leave, but it took much longer than it should have for him to make himself scarce. As Hanson contemplated his next course of action, Emma glanced down at Ronon's hand and saw it clench once more into a fist.

She broke the silence. "I'm sure with the Wraith on their way, you have plenty of security matters to deal with."

"Yes." He paused. "Yes, I do. I'll see you later, Emma. Maybe tonight." He turned and left, brushing past Ronon on his way out.

Ronon watched Hanson disappear down the hallway and only stepped onto the balcony once he was convinced he was gone. He stood next to her and leaned against the balcony railing, arms crossed over his chest. Considering he had come to talk with her, he was being unnaturally quiet – even for him.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded to the broken coffee mug on the floor. "What happened there?"

"Oh! That. I…slipped in one of the puddles and dropped my coffee." She forced a smile. "A real shame, too. That was my favorite mug."

He gave her a scrutinizing glance. "Good thing you didn't spill on your uniform."

"Yes. Very lucky. This is my favorite uniform."

She thought the joke might lighten the atmosphere, but he wasn't taking the bait.

"Did I interrupt something just now?" he asked, gesturing around the balcony.

Her chest tightened into a painful knot. "No," she said quietly. "Nothing at all. We used to work together back at Cheyenne Mountain and he was just dropping by to say hi."

He grunted in reply. "I saw the broken cup and he was standing pretty close to you – I uh, I was worried that I was gonna have to beat someone up."

This time he was the one making jokes, but there was an underlying conviction in his tone that made her nervous. She laughed nonetheless, but it came out thin and high-pitched, almost maniacal.

Ronon continued in spite of her ridiculous outburst. "And then I wondered, maybe –"

"No," she cut him off. "He's just a colleague. That's it."

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, no doubt to ask some probing question about Hanson or her relationship with him, but once more she beat him to the punch.

"What's this suicide mission?" she asked.

His stance relaxed with the change of subject and he sank more of his weight into the balustrade. "You heard the Wraith might be on their way to Atlantis?"

She nodded. "I overheard the news this morning."

"Well, Woolsey wants us to attack a Wraith outpost, kill some Wraith, and harvest their enzyme."

Blunt as usual, his reply left her a bit stunned. "What? Why?"

"If the Wraith are on their way here, Woolsey wants to wake Janus up. Beckett said we couldn't do that unless we got more of the enzyme."

Emma blinked a few times. "I see…" She relaxed onto the guard rail next to him and let the information sink in. "How long will you, I mean your team, be gone?"

He shook his head. "No clue. Could be hours, could be a couple days."

Which could mean a couple nights. Nights that she would have to spend alone in her quarters. Her eyes flashed toward his. "Who – who else is going?"

"Our team and Lorne's."

"That's it? Just eight of you to infiltrate a Wraith outpost?"

It was now Ronon's turn to look at the ground. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

She frowned in confusion. Surely, they didn't need a linguist for the operation.

"Sheppard wants Eva on the mission," he said.

"Eva?" The fear that had begun to dissipate from her body at Ronon's arrival slowly crept back into her heart.

"She's probably killed more Wraith than anyone but –"

"You," she breathed.

He nodded.

"What did she say?" she asked.

"I haven't asked her yet. I wanted to…see what you thought first." He scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. "I mean you're her – you know."

"Are you asking my permission? Are you asking me to approve sending a – a teenage girl on a suicide mission?"

"I'm asking your opinion," he stated matter-of-factly.

"And if my opinion differs from yours? Then what?"

"I haven't landed on an opinion yet."

"So then it's all up to me and what I say? If I say no, then you can report back to Sheppard and shift the blame to me. If I say yes, then you're free of any responsibility or any guilt should something bad happen to her." The adrenaline from her encounter with Hanson was still flowing and she felt the crescendo in her voice with every sentence, but couldn't control it. "Sounds like a win-win for you. You don't –"

She continued speaking, but Ronon wasn't having it. "Nothing bad is going to happen to her," he said, voice raised enough to drown hers out.

"You don't know that. You can't promise that."

"As long as she stays with me, she'll be safe."

"You know she won't stay with you," she said. "She doesn't listen. Not to you. Not to anyone."

"She needs this, Rogers. She's alone here…wasting away with overflowing talent and no purpose."

She let silence descend between them before speaking again. "Sounds like you landed on your opinion."

He sighed, turned around, and looked out over the waves. "It's like when you flip a coin. The minute that coin goes in the air, you already know your decision, even before it lands."

Her gaze was so singularly focused on his face, she felt as though her stare might burn a hole through him. She knew exactly what he meant.

"And hearing my opinion was your coin toss?"

When he looked back at her, he returned the intensity of her gaze in kind. "The Wraith took her from her home, branded her like she was nothing more than cattle, and hunted her like a wild animal. This could be a chance for her to get revenge."

Subconsciously, her hand went to her neck to touch the healing wound there, and the dried-up bits of liquid suture that were flaking off as the cut healed. She thought of the video McKay had shown her on the Alpha Site, and she remembered what the Wraith had said about having a plan for Eva. Who knew what would happen if she were to fall into the hands of the Wraith again?

"I'm sorry, Ronon," she whispered.

"If I promised I could keep her safe?"

"We just went over this. It isn't your abilities that I doubt, but her willingness to follow orders and listen to you. I know that you would do anything within your control to keep her safe. But Eva…she ain't under anybody's control."

"You mean that?"

He stared so deeply into her eyes that gooseflesh broke out along her arms and neck.

"Yes?" She wasn't sure what part of her statement he was asking her about.

"What if I told you that I could get her to listen to me? Guaranteed?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Now that I would pay good money to see."

He placed a light touch on her arm. "Come with me."


	55. The Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon finds a way to make sure Eva will listen to him on their upcoming mission, despite Emma's protests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a little bit of blood.

Over these past few weeks, Ronon had learned a lot about Emma Rogers, but if there was one thing that had surprised him above all else, it was how secretive she was.

Ronon hadn't always been an introvert. Years ago, on Sateda, he had shared his living quarters at the academy with dozens of other cadets and was never bothered by it. He would go out drinking and reveling with large groups almost every weekend, sharing stories until the wee hours of the morning. Camaraderie and companionship were what he had liked most about commanding a unit. Even with Melena, he was always the one encouraging her to let loose, go out with friends, socialize. But seven years of complete isolation would change a man. And they had changed him.

With only himself and the woods as company, he learned to not only accept isolation, but enjoy it; and so, reintroduction to society in Atlantis had been difficult for him, not only because of the cultural differences, but because he had held onto the idea that one day, he would return to his old self. That once again, he would gain energy from the noise and pulse of a crowd. That being packed close with others in a small space wouldn't trouble him. That parties, gatherings, festivals would be enjoyable once more.

Only a few months ago did he realize part of him had died in those woods; ashes of that old Ronon had been scattered across the Pegasus Galaxy.

Now, he found pleasure in the simplicity and solitude of sharpening a knife or cleaning his gun. He preferred meals with just Teyla or Sheppard rather than with a whole group of brothers and sisters in arms. He only told late-night stories to those he kept close. The type of person he had become, _they_ were the ones who kept secrets.

But Rogers? She had made friends with almost half the base within her first month of living on it - or at least it seemed that way. She went to every movie night, every birthday party, every Athosian harvest festival she was invited to. As far as he had heard, her easygoing personality meant that she worked well with any team she was assigned to. No one ever groaned at the inclusion of her name on a mission list like they frequently did with McKay's or even Parrish's.

Friendly and talkative, he always figured she was an open book. But after getting to know her, he was beginning to wonder how much of it was a mask. Even the night before at dinner, when she had opened up and told him all about her sister and her niece, he still sensed that she was hiding something. There was almost always something going on under that smile of hers.

There had definitely been something going on with Captain Hanson on that balcony, but _what_ he wasn't sure. To start, he hadn't believed that she had slipped and dropped her coffee mug; but the lack of spilled beverage on either her uniform or the captain's also ruled out that it had been broken in a struggle. It was likely that what she had said about working with him back on Earth was true; a lot of these people had worked together before coming here. But her explanation that he had merely dropped by to say hello...on a secluded balcony...in a section of the city he didn't often frequent? Ronon was definitely missing something.

If there was one thing he absolutely believed now, though, it was that Rogers wasn't interested in Hanson. She had said about as much a few minutes ago, but then again, he had learned to not always take her words at face value. No. He had been convinced of her lack of interest in the marine before he found her on that balcony. The minute she had shown up at Ronon's door the night before – that was when he knew. She had come to _him_, to Ronon, for comfort and that little thought sparked a warm sensation from the base of his ribs through the rest of his body.

Glancing down at Rogers walking next to him, he caught a glimpse of her unguarded facial expression. She was picking at the cuticles on her fingernails, staring blindly into the distance, her lips pressed tightly together. She was worried. Deeply, truly worried. He laid a hand on her back and she offered him a weak smile in return, but, like so often with her, it wasn't sincere.

They eventually found Eva sitting on the floor outside the conference room, presumably lying in wait for Mr. Woolsey. She had a tablet in her lap and was clicking furiously through it. So absorbed was she in her task, it didn't seem like she heard them approach.

"What are you doing?" Ronon asked.

"Research," she said without missing a beat or giving any indication that their arrival had caught her off guard. She didn't even take her eyes off the screen.

"What kind of research?" Rogers asked.

"Right now, I'm looking up everyone on base who doesn't have the Ancient Gene."

"Everyone who _doesn't_ have the – Hang on." Ronon interrupted his own train of thought. "Where did you get that thing?"

She froze and looked up at them for the first time. "I…borrowed it from a friend?"

Rogers put her hands on her hips.

"Checked it out from the library?"

"Try again," Ronon said.

"Found it lying around somewhere and was just on my way to return it to its rightful owner?"

"Give that to me," Rogers hissed, taking it from her hands. After pressing a few buttons, her eyes widened in surprise at the appearance of a pigeon on the home screen. "Eva, this is Zelenka's tablet!"

The girl fought back the urge to laugh. "Yes, it is. You know, for as smart as he is, he sure can be a spacey one."

Powering down the tablet, Rogers hugged it close to her chest.

"Why are you looking up the people who don't have the Ancient gene?" Ronon asked.

"Because if we're going to go back to M5R-233, we need to make sure the team that goes doesn't get affected by the temple's interference. Luckily, there are over a dozen gene-negative pilots who have logged significant flight time in 302s."

"302s?" Rogers echoed.

Eva nodded. "If puddle jumpers are out of the question, the 302s are the next best bet."

"Naturally," Rogers said, somewhat amused by this turn of events.

Eva scowled up at her. "I am determined to find my way home, back to my _real_ parents," she glanced pointedly at Ronon, which sent an unexpected jab through his chest, "and if that means coming up with hairbrained schemes to get me back to that planet, so be it."

"Yeah, well…you might want to put those plans on hold," Ronon said.

"I know. You think Woolsey won't approve it. But I'm still going to –"

"I've got a different mission for you."

Eva halted her argumentation and gawked at them, mouth agape. "A mission? For _me_?"

"Ronon," Rogers whispered in rebuke.

He held out his hands in front of him, both to quiet her and as if to say "give me a chance."

"Woolsey wants to wake Janus up," he explained.

"Why?" Eva blurted.

"Because the Wraith are headed this way," Rogers said.

Eva shifted and drew her knees to her chest.

"But in order to wake him up, we need more Wraith enzyme. And to get more enzyme, we're going to do a run on a Wraith-controlled outpost."

Wide-eyed, Eva sat quietly as she looked up at him.

"The mission has been assigned to recon teams one and two. But Sheppard thinks your…experience would be an asset."

Eva stared at her knee while her hand absentmindedly found its way to the top of her back. "And what do _you_ think?" she asked.

He looked over at Rogers before replying. She didn't return the glance, but he could see a distant resignation in her gaze and for a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt for pressing this issue with her.

"I think you need this mission as much as this mission needs you."

Eva's eyes glossed over and she blinked a few times before addressing Rogers. "What about you? What are your thoughts on all of this?"

Rogers looked to Ronon to answer Eva's question. "I don't think it's safe."

He met her gaze head on and tried as best as he could to soften his voice and expression. "You said if I promised to keep her safe, you'd be okay with it."

She pursed her lips, looked to the ground and released a long exhale.

"You interested?" Ronon asked the girl.

She squinted up at him. "What's the catch?"

"You do anything and everything I say, without question, without hesitation, and without argument."

"That it?"

"That's it."

She shrugged. "Okay."

This one-word agreement was all Ronon needed to proceed and he wasted no time reaching into his gauntlet to pull out a small dagger. "Give me your wrist."

Eva's eyes turned to saucers.

"What?" Rogers caught his bicep in her hand. "Ronon, you can't be serious!"

Before he could explain what he was intending to do, a voice that he knew belonged to Eva, despite sounding uncharacteristically small and quiet, spoke.

"It's okay."

Rogers's grip on his arm loosened, but she didn't let go.

Almost without thought, Eva pulled back her sleeve but hesitated in offering her arm. "I…I thought this kind of vow was only done for marriage unions."

Ronon crouched down to her level, leaving Rogers's arm floating midair. "It's for any oath of life and death. I trust that I don't need to explain to you how serious a vow it is."

Eva's eyes drifted up to Rogers before she nodded her understanding.

He knew that Eva would have known about this oath. He knew that her parents would have made a similar oath on their wedding night. And he knew that the sheer gravity of it would have been impressed upon her after seeing it in action, day after day, night after night in her own household.

Taking the knife to his wrist, he made a shallow cut, reopening the scar tissue that had formed there long ago when he had made his vows to Melena.

"Ronon!" Rogers gasped.

"You know enough Old Satedan to make your vow?" The cut was flowing freely and drops of his blood fell to the floor as he waited for her reply.

Slowly, Eva lowered her arm to him. "I think so."

As quickly as he could, Ronon slit her wrist. Eva winced but made no audible utterance of pain.

"Oh my God," Rogers breathed, recoiling from the sight.

Ronon pressed his bloodstained wrist to Eva's and stared into her eyes, hardly blinking. Unwavering, she held his gaze and for the first time in years, Ronon recognized the face of a true, fellow Satedan.

"I will protect you and shield you with my life." Ronon spoke in the language of his people, of his forebearers, but the words that came from his mouth felt dusty, like antiques of a past life that had been tucked away into the dark, cobwebbed corners of his mind.

Blood seeped slowly from both of their wrists and congealed into a small puddle on the floor.

"I will place your safety and wellbeing above all else," he continued. With every word, the dust blew away and the sounds felt more familiar. "I will safeguard your life above all others, including my own. This I vow to you."

He stopped speaking and, without prompting, Eva knew it was her turn.

"I do - I _will_ do everything you say," she began, "without –" her eyebrows knitted together in intense concentration, "without question…without –" Her language skills were beginning to fail her.

"Without hesitation," Ronon provided.

"Without hesitation," she repeated.

"Without argument."

"Without argument." She took a deep breath. "This I vow to you."

He gripped her forearm and squeezed, and she did the same before they released. He then stood, reached into his pocket, and offered Eva his handkerchief so she could fashion herself a bandage.

Shaking the blood from his own wrist, he turned to Rogers. "Old Satedan comes from Ancient." The occasion had become solemn, so he was brusque. "How much did you understand?"

"Enough," she answered quietly.

"She's Satedan. She _will_ keep her word." He reached to take her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "And so will I."

Her lip trembled and she glanced away for a moment, but returned her eyes to his. "I know," she said with the smallest of nods. "She can go." Sniffing softly, she extricated her hand from his. "I need to get back to work now."

He watched as she hurried down the corridor and out of sight before returning his attention to Eva. "We're briefing here with Lorne's team at 13:00 hours. Should give you enough time to clear your head and clean that up," he nodded his chin toward the fresh wound on her arm. "I didn't cut deep; it shouldn't need stitches."

She tightened the makeshift tourniquet with her teeth and nodded.

He clapped her on the side of her arm and she rocked a bit from the impact. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, craning her neck to look up at him. "Thank you."


	56. Assault on Talus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva tries to find a moment of peace before the team begins their assault on Talus.

Eva had gone through the gate with her family plenty of times in the past – to New Athos, Manaria, and Belkan, among others – usually to hunt, to trade, or occasionally to visit other displaced Satedans. But this time was different.

For one thing, she had never been this heavily armed. Though her father had trained her to use any and every weapon available on base, usually when they traveled together the most she ever carried were her knives and occasionally a small handgun or, if they were hunting, a bow and arrow. Today, however, she had visited the armory and this time, no restrictions had been placed on the type or number of weapons she could take with her on the mission. She had grabbed a P-90 and silencer, a sidearm, a large dagger, several smaller knives, some C4, and copious amounts of ammunition.

As she entered the locker room, she carefully laid her collection of weapons onto a bench and removed her jacket. That was another difference: she had never gotten ready to go off-world in the locker room. It had always been reserved for actual members of the Atlantis expedition – not their children. Like any regular day, she would usually get ready in her bedroom, perhaps spending a few extra minutes with the mirror and some eyeliner if they were going somewhere like New Athos where she might run into someone she felt the need to impress. But this space… it felt so official.

No one had arrived yet, and she expected just as much. She had wanted to get there early to give herself enough time to both mentally and physically prepare to face the Wraith again. Collapsing onto the bench next to her weapons, she began the ritual of concealing the various knives she had collected on her person. One in each boot, a few in her pockets, and a couple twisted into her hair.

She stared at the lockers as her fingers went through the familiar, almost automatic motions for the braids. They were alphabetized as best as they could be, with preference given to expedition members who frequently traveled off-world. Emma, for example, didn't have one. Obviously, neither did Eva. But Ronon did and she happened to be sitting right across from it.

She had never seen the inside of her father's locker – neither in this reality, nor in her own – and she found herself curious about what he kept in there. Did he have pictures of her or her mother taped to the door? A reminder of what he would lose if he didn't come back from a mission? Or did he prefer to keep those two worlds separate? Did dissociation from those he loved make it easier to slip into warrior mode?

She wondered what this Ronon would have in his locker. Was that old, tattered, sepia-toned photograph of that other woman, the one she had once found along with a gold ring in a small wooden box in the closet, in there somewhere?

Melena. That had been her name. The few times her father spoke about her, she had seemed a lifetime away. And wasn't that literally the case? In her timeline, the woman had been dead for over thirty years; that was longer than the number of years this Ronon had been alive. How long must it have been now, though? A decade or so?

Finishing off the last braid, she knotted them all together before slipping into her jacket. It was the one that she had removed from a fallen soldier and worn during her time on Sateda. Somehow, it hadn't been thrown away after her rescue, so she had taken it back and washed it over and over again until the stench of sweat, fear, and death no longer lingered. She had then cut it up and re-stitched it to fit her better. Master seamstress she was not; the shoulder seams were a bit ragged, and the long seam down the back was a little crooked, but she had gotten the job done. She liked the way it felt now. No longer was it the oversized relic of a man long dead, but something she had reclaimed and made her own.

Buttoning it up, she stood and looked for her TAC vest on the rack, eventually finding it next to Ronon's. The tag on his hanger was crisp and white, less worn than some of the others that had begun to peel and yellow, evidence that it had recently been replaced.

DEX, R.

She slid the hanger over.

DEX, E.

For years "Dex" had been sufficient. Now there was reason to specify. The smile on her face barely registered before it was choked out by the memory of the last time she had seen her father. Yelling, struggling, suffocating as she was hauled away to be used for sport.

Swallowing her rising panic, she ripped the TAC vest and leg holster off their hanger and shoved the C4 into the pockets.

Lieutenant Coughlin, one of the members of Lorne's team whom she had met earlier that day during the mission briefing, entered the locker room just as Eva was zipping up the vest.

"Hey," he said as he headed straight to his locker.

Preoccupied with figuring out the metal vest clip for her P90, she merely nodded her chin to him in reply.

"Nervous?" he asked. "This is one helluva mission."

She let out a frustrated grunt as the clip snapped shut before she could get the metal loop on the P90 through. "Not really."

"Then you are either very brave or very foolish." He looked back at her over his shoulder and gave her a genial smile.

"Probably a bit of both," she said through gritted teeth as she tried the clip again.

He chuckled softly. "Aren't we all?" He shut his locker, found his own TAC vest on the rack, and headed her way.

She cast him an inquisitive glance as he stood, not across, but directly next to her.

"Here." He held his own P90 in his hand. "Push down, slide, clip, secure."

She followed his instructions and managed to get the gun secured to her vest.

"Luckily, it's a lot easier to release than attach. Just pull." He demonstrated by pulling his own firearm straight down and the clip released.

Hers did the same when she tried it, and she smiled over to him after managing to clip it on for a second time. "Thanks."

"You headed to the Jumper bay?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Practice a few times while you wait for the rest of us. First with your dominant hand, then with the non-dominant." He clapped her on the back before returning to his locker.

"Will do."

As she reached the exit, she glanced back at him and glimpsed the inside of his locker. There wasn't much in it – some clothes, an extra pair of boots, a hat – but on the door, a few pictures had been tacked up. The one that caught her eye showed two girls about her age, sitting in a small motorboat and holding up fish they had caught, large smiles plastered on their faces.

"Thanks again," she called to him.

He gave her a thumbs up. "No problem."

She wondered who the girls were.

* * *

_Push down, slide, clip, secure. Push down, slide, clip, secure. Push down, slide, clip, secure._

She could do it now in less than a second with her right hand, but was considerably slower with the left. It made her feel so stupid. She had been able to fire every weapon she had ever encountered with pinpoint accuracy but this – this was what tripped her up. Then again, her father rarely wore a TAC vest (which made her wonder why they still hung one up for him in the locker room) and so she had never learned this utterly basic skill.

She kept trying.

_Push down, slide, clip, secure. Push down, slide…_

"Hop in, kid," Sheppard's voice rang out behind her.

She turned to see him and Teyla heading toward one of the Jumpers they were going to take for the mission and got up to follow them. The rear hatch was already open and Sheppard immediately took his seat in the pilot's chair, Teyla directly behind him. Eight people, mostly large men in full tactical gear, needed to fit into this single Jumper, so Eva sat in the rear compartment, unzipping her vest to allow for more comfort.

"Eva, come take shotgun," Sheppard called to her. "I want to show you a few things."

"Me?"

"I did say Eva and not Evan, didn't I? Yes, you."

Somewhat uncertain, she moved to the front seat on Sheppard's right and stared at the control panel.

"You flew one of these things once before?" he asked.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Flew one, yeah. Landed it? Not so much."

"All right," he said. "As you know, the interface is mostly neural, but there are manual additions and overrides, too."

She nodded her comprehension.

"DHD," he pointed to the center triangle, "propulsion, drive pod retraction, drones…"

He continued to point out nearly every button, lever, and slide on the dashboard and she tried her best to keep up, lamenting that she hadn't taken a page out of her mother's book and brought a notepad along. There was so much to remember. But the colonel was patient, repeating himself as needed and answering any questions she had.

Lorne and his team, along with Ronon, all showed up together and took seats in the rear compartment as Sheppard continued to explain the various parts of the ship.

"McKay's not gonna be happy," Ronon said from behind her, giving her a start. The man could be completely silent when he moved and even Eva hadn't realized how close he was.

She turned fully around in her seat and braced her arm on the armrest to look at him. "Why not?"

Ronon's eyes widened at the sight of the stripes on her sleeve and it took him a second longer to answer her question than it normally would have. "You're in his spot."

"Yeah, well…he can deal," Eva said, facing forward once more.

McKay was the last to board the Jumper, nose buried in his tablet as he made his way to the cockpit, and nearly sat on Eva before looking up from the screen to see her there.

"Excuse me. Children ride in the backseat." He gestured over his shoulder.

Sheppard spoke up for her. "Not this time Rodney. I'm giving flying lessons."

"But –"

"No buts. She should know this." He waved toward the HUD.

McKay turned expectantly toward Ronon. "You know how easily I get motion sickness. Do you think we could –"

"Not a chance," Ronon said, leaning back in his seat.

"You know," Sheppard continued, "I've always heard that the cool kids are the ones who sit in the back of the bus."

"It's the bullies who sit in the back of the bus," McKay said under his breath as he reluctantly returned to the rear compartment.

"What did you call this planet again?" Sheppard asked to those in the cockpit.

"Talus," Teyla replied.

"And you said there's a shrine on it?"

"Yes. It is known among my people as a place for victims of an illness called the Second Childhood. It offers the gift of one last day spent with family and friends…and a quick death."

"So…it kills them?" Sheppard asked. "Aren't shrines supposed to be sacred? Doesn't sound too shriney to me."

"It allows the sufferer to die with dignity," Ronon said, a distant look on his face.

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "But it still kills them."

"The Second Childhood is like Alzheimer's, Colonel," Eva explained. "The Shrine provides clarity for one last day."

"Hm," was all Sheppard said in reply before the ship's comm activated and Woolsey's voice came through the speaker.

"Jumper 2, what is your status?" Woolsey asked.

"Standing by," Lieutenant Miller, who was piloting the other Jumper replied.

"Jumper 3?"

"Standing by," Sheppard said. "Go ahead and send the MALP through."

"Sending the MALP through."

"All right," Sheppard began. "We're either gonna get away with this or we're not." He looked round at everyone else. "If we don't, the ride's gonna be wild and it's gonna be fast, so I need everyone prepared."

Eva nodded and gripped tightly to her armrests, figuring that nothing could be worse than the end of her little Jumper joyride, which now seemed like it had happened so long ago.

"The MALP is clear of the gate and they're firing on it from both sides of what appears to be a deep valley," Woolsey said. "Jumper 2, descend to the gateroom."

"Yes, sir," Miller responded.

"Jumper 3, you will need to be right behind Jumper 2 in order to take advantage of the smokescreen. It won't last for long."

"Understood," said Sheppard.

"MALP is deploying smoke. You should have complete coverage of the area in five seconds. Four…three…two…Jumper 2 you have a go. Jumper 3 –"

But Sheppard had already lowered the ship into the gateroom before Woolsey could finish his order.

"Good luck," was the last thing Eva heard Woolsey say before they went through the gate. Eyes glued to the HUD, a warning flashed across it in Ancient. She didn't understand the whole message, but could make out a few words: "never," "gate," "cloak." The warning vanished as quickly as it had appeared and suddenly, they were blanketed by a thick cloud of smoke.

"Cloaking now," Sheppard whispered just before he took the ship high into the air and out of the haze.

Looking down, Eva caught sight of two Hive ships grounded in the middle of a large, desolate valley and her mouth went dry. Jumper 2 was nowhere to be seen.

"That's one hell of a valley," Ronon commented.

"Do you think they detected us before we were able to cloak?" Teyla asked.

"No, I think the smokescreen worked," Sheppard answered. "Jumper 2, do you read?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you detected coming through the gate?"

"I don't believe so, sir."

"Okay, Lieutenant." He took in a deep, long breath. "Commence aerial assault. Target the westernmost Hive ship."

"Yes, sir. Deploying drones now."

From their high vantage point, they watched the attack unfold. Seemingly out of nowhere, the first battery of bright yellow missiles rained down on the Hive, landing in small bursts of fire. Immediately, darts swarmed from both ships, trying in vain to track down and eliminate their unseen foe. Despite the resistance, the Jumper was able to double back and fire more drones.

Lieutenant Miller was a talented pilot, Eva decided, based on the way several hits managed to set off other, smaller chains of explosions. With a limited number of drones available, he must have targeted the more essential sections of the ship.

"Miller, come in," Sheppard said. "That was some nice shooting. Everything okay?"

"Not entirely, sir. A dart managed to just barely graze us before we could get out of there. One of the drive pods got hit. It's still functional in terms of thrust, but Dr. Simpson would like to take a look at it and make sure it still retracts before we attempt to go through the gate again."

Sheppard gave his shoulders a shake, as though a chill had passed through his body. "I think that's a wise idea, Simpson. Land as far from the Hives as you can while still remaining within radio distance. See if you can find some tree cover in the forest. Keep the cloak on as long as possible and carry out any necessary repairs. We'll check back in in two hours."

"Yes, sir. Miller out."

With the first phase of their plan complete, Sheppard shifted his focus to finding a safe place to land. They bided their time for a few minutes in a holding pattern, but as the darts dispersed wider and wider in their search, Sheppard was able to fly lower and eventually land the Jumper within sight of the unharmed Hive ship. This was the important part, Eva realized.

"How do you land it?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh. Well, you imagine the Jumper landing," he said, somewhat obviously.

"So all you have to do is think 'land' and it'll do it?" She raised her eyebrows. "That didn't work so well for me the last time."

"You don't think of the word 'land.'" The ground was rapidly approaching. "You picture it in your mind. Like…like…"

"Like a leaf kissing the surface of a pond!" McKay called from the back.

"Kissing?" Sheppard repeated. "Come on now, Rodney. Don't make this gross."

"Hey, it works!"

Sheppard ignored him. "It's like when you want to activate the cloak. Thinking of the words 'cloak' or 'invisible' isn't enough. You have to imagine the ship disappearing in the sky."

Eva nodded slowly as Sheppard brought the Jumper to a smooth halt on the dirt ground. He hit a button on the dash in front of him and the HUD surfaced, then zoomed toward the main entrance of the Hive ship. Wraith were streaming out of it in hordes, all running toward the crippled ship. So far, their plan had worked.

Once a planet belonging to the Ancestors, Talus had been taken over by the Wraith in recent years. With two Hive ships and about 10,000 Wraith on the ground, they knew that the enzyme they needed would be in bountiful supply. But in order to justify running a dangerous stealth mission on two fully-equipped Hives, all in the hope of defending Atlantis against _one_ Cruiser that was _maybe_ heading toward the city, their objective had been modified.

Not only were they to harvest the enzyme of at least twenty Wraith, they were to severely cripple if not completely destroy both Hives. The aerial attack on the western Hive would serve as a diversion to reduce the numbers of Wraith soldiers on the eastern Hive. Then, once the Wraith were distracted and their numbers reduced enough, Sheppard's and Lorne's strike teams would board the unharmed Hive to begin the hunting and harvesting process. Beyond that, they would plant C4 along the way, which they would detonate once the harvesting was complete. The explosion of the second Hive would then hopefully serve as another diversion as they returned through the Stargate.

It was insanely risky, but if they managed to accomplish their objective, it would be well worth it. The Wraith fleet would be severely damaged, they would have their enzyme to wake Janus, and could potentially free the world of Talus to once more allow safe passage to those who sought the Shrine.

Squadrons of Wraith continued to spill out of the eastern Hive, all rushing toward their sister ship to mitigate the damage.

"Now what?" Eva asked.

"We wait," Sheppard answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Some of the dialogue may have felt familiar to you. This is because I lifted a few lines directly from the episode "The Shrine." Credit goes to to Callie Sullivan (whoever she may be) at Gate World for providing the transcript for it.


	57. Two-Way Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Lacey have a girls' night, which leads Emma to a striking realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more lighthearted, low tension stuff to distract, distract, distract. Lalala. Hope you're all well!

If Emma had to picture the stereotypical botanist, Dr. Lacey Peters had to be an almost exact antithesis to that image. Outspoken, flirtatious, and overly passionate about the perfect way to make a cup of tea, only the Amazon forest in miniature taking over her quarters gave any indication of her profession. Nearly every surface in the room was decorated with some sort of potted plant – some more terrestrial-looking than others – including the coffee table in front of her.

Emma drained her glass of red wine and set it down. "Thanks again for letting me crash here tonight."

"Of course," Lacey said as she reached for the wine bottle to pour Emma some more, only to discover that it was empty. She got up from the small couch and headed to the kitchenette to fetch another bottle. "We were long overdue for a girls' night, anyway. Though you do eventually need to woman up, march up to that neighbor's door and tell them to can it so you can get some sleep." After a moment of jingling and jangling in the utensils drawer, she found the corkscrew, drove it into the neck of the new bottle and released the cork with a satisfying pop. A bacchian smirk spread across her face. "I love that sound."

Lacey filled Emma's glass nearly to the brim, accidentally dribbling a few drops of the dark red liquid onto the coffee table. "Whoops."

Emma stared at the drops of wine and felt the mental block she had fought all day to keep up begin to crumble. Her stomach lurched as she no longer saw wine, but the puddle of Ronon and Eva's blood on the floor outside the conference room. Up until that moment, she had managed to distract herself from worrying about where they were and what they were doing; the haze of the wine had helped even further, buoying the heavy weight in her chest and rounding the edges of her fear. But those three little droplets had brought reality back into sharp focus for her. While she drank, ate, and relaxed with her friend on this planet, somewhere across the galaxy on another, Ronon and her daughter could very well be bleeding out onto the floor of some distant Wraith research facility. Nothing more than drops of wine, lost in the mist.

The strength of concern she felt for Eva had long ceased to surprise her; she had experienced those maternal instincts before, and had almost immediately been able to identify and reference them. What did surprise her, though, was her preoccupation for Ronon. The mere thought of him being injured or captured sent a small tremor through her body and a chill through her heart.

They _weren't_ together. She had to keep reminding herself of that. They hadn't kissed, hadn't made love, hadn't even held hands. Point blank, he had told her he wasn't interested. And yet this fear, this anxiety for his wellbeing…it was suffocating.

Lacey had come back from the kitchenette with a towel to wipe up the mess. Like that, the drops were gone. Like they never existed at all.

Emma cleared her throat. "Lace, are you…worried at all?" she asked.

"About what?" She poured herself another glass, too. "About the Wraith? Not a whole lot we can do in the botany department about that, unfortunately."

"I meant about Evan."

Lacey's eyes abruptly met hers before she let out a long sigh and sank onto a floor cushion across from her. "I suppose." She munched thoughtfully on a few pieces of popcorn. "But I also know that worrying won't change anything and will only make me miserable, so I'm trying not to think about it."

Emma stared into her wine glass and nodded.

"You're worried about the girl?" Lacey asked, folding her legs underneath her.

She nodded again.

"They're with the best of the best. Sheppard. Teyla. Ronon. And Evan's not so bad himself," she said with a small smile.

"You're right," Emma whispered. She brought the glass to her lips, but found that she couldn't make herself take a sip.

"Something wrong with the wine?" Lacey asked with a frown before grabbing her own glass and giving it a suspicious sniff.

"No." Emma forced herself to take a drink of it and swallowed hard. "It's fine."

"I will say, the quality of the stuff Zelenka has managed to sneak through keeps getting better and better."

A smile finally took over Emma's expression. "Probably because Woolsey has expensive taste."

Lacey leaned forward, holding her glass in both hands. "Do you really think he knows?"

Emma shrugged. "I don't think he would ever admit to knowing about it. But he has to know that his cigars and those bottles of Chateau Mouton come from somewhere."

"Chateau Mouton," Lacey imitated, overexaggerating Emma's French pronunciation. "You are so full of it."

More at ease, Emma took another sip of wine while Lacey grabbed a handful of popcorn.

"So, what's going on with you and Brett?"

The wine hit the back of her throat like vinegar and made her sputter. "What?"

"With you and Brett Hanson. I assume that's where you went after you stopped by here a few nights ago? To his place?"

She shook her head vigorously, still coughing. "No. Definitely not."

"Now, you know that I am not one to fall prey to the temptations of idle gossip…"

Emma shot her an accusatory glance, to which Lacey smiled enigmatically.

"But, from what I've heard, it sounds like you did not return to your own quarters that night."

"I didn't go anywhere near Captain Hanson's quarters," she said firmly.

"It's okay. You can tell me. You don't have to be embarrassed. He's rather good looking, seems smart –"

"There is nothing going on between Hanson and me!"

Lacey's wide-eyed stare back at her made her realize that she had perhaps shouted a bit too loudly.

"Sorry," she said in a lower voice. "Hanson and I used to work at the SGC together. He took me on _one_ date in the Springs – to the Broadmoor, no less…"

Lacey made a face, shrugged, and shook her head with incomprehension.

"Fancy hotel," she explained. "Jacket required at dinner. Lake. Swans. A bit too much pressure for a first date. Made me feel like I owed him something by the end of it, you know?"

Her friend snorted into her wine glass.

"Anyway, it was enough to tell me I wasn't interested. He just…" she ran her finger along the rim of her glass, "he was just too similar to the other men I had dated in the past."

Lacey narrowed her eyes and stared long and hard at Emma. "So…you went straight back to your own place, then?"

Emma fixed her gaze on a tall fern behind Lacey's head. "Mmhmm."

"You are a terrible liar, Dr. Rogers." She raised herself to her knees and leaned across the coffee table. "Who did you sleep with? Tell me tell me tell me."

Emma brought her knees to her chest and fell back into the couch cushions. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"What's the point of having a girls' night if we don't use it to talk about stuff like this? Honestly, if the Wraith really are on their way here, this could be our last chance!" She pouted. "Won't you grant a dying woman's wish?"

"You're being melodramatic and it won't work on me."

Lacey grabbed a few pieces of popcorn and threw one at her. "Tell me." She threw another. "Tell me." Another. "Tell me."

"No!" she laughed, fishing a soggy piece of popcorn out of her wine glass.

"Ew, don't eat that. Here," she held a napkin out to her and Emma dropped the drunken kernel onto the cloth. Lacey wiped her hands on her pants, reached to the bookshelf behind her, and fired up her tablet. "Fine. You won't tell? I'll guess."

"You can't be serious…"

"The more your face resembles a tomato, the closer I know I am to the truth." She read the first name off the screen. "Was it Dr. Adams?"

Emma stared blankly back at her.

"Dr. Archimedes?"

"The one who has a crush on Teyla?"

"The very same. Sergeant Arroyo? Dr. Baxter?"

"Are you really going to go through the entire directory?" Emma asked.

"Absolutely. Unless you want to put both of us out of our misery and just tell me."

"No thanks," Emma smirked.

"God help me if it's Zelenka," she muttered, taking a sip of wine.

Lacey made it all the way through the B and C last names, by which point Emma had fixed her gaze to a spot on the ceiling, feigning boredom.

"Captain Cui? Lieutenant Davidson?"

A rush of blood surged from her stomach, up through her chest, onto her neck, and pooled on her cheeks before Lacey even read his name.

"Ronon Dex? Dr. Di – wait. Ronon? Ronon Dex? Is it Ronon? Did you sleep with Ronon?"

"Oh, will you stop saying his name?" Emma said, finally braving her friend's face again.

Lacey released a high-pitched noise that bordered upon inhuman. "Oh, that makes perfect sense! Obvious, even." She glanced to the side. "Wow, I feel rather stupid for not thinking of it sooner, actually."

"It's nothing," Emma said.

"How was it?" Lacey asked, eager for more details. "He's a good kisser, isn't he?"

The heat on her face intensified. "_I _wouldn't know because _I_ did not have sex with him."

Lacey waved the comment off. "That was one time. And _so_ long ago. He got in, got out – literally," she said with a waggle of her eyebrows, "no feelings were exchanged." She pinched her thumb and index finger together. "An ideal transaction."

Emma didn't know how to reply and instead picked at her fingernails, waiting for the flush on her cheeks to dissipate. From very early on in her friendship with Lacey, she had known that she and Ronon had had a one-night stand a couple years ago, before Emma had even set foot on Atlantis. She hadn't given it much thought until recently, but now she felt guilty for the tight knot of jealousy starting to squeeze at her insides.

"I suspect that's not quite the case for you, though, is it?" Lacey's voice had become softer, gentler. "Do you have feelings for him?"

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"Again. Terrible liar."

"How can I not?" She shook her head, still fiddling with her cuticles. "And it's – it's not just Eva or anything she's told me about him…about us."

She took a deep breath and thought of the moment Ronon had tended to the knife wound on her neck in the middle of that rainy meadow. The surprising tenderness of his hand on the back of her head, the firmness of the other as he staunched the bleeding, the way he wouldn't stop looking at her. Had he felt then what she was feeling now? That same asphyxiating fear of loss?

She felt too vulnerable to look up at her friend as she spoke. "Have you ever had someone touch you or – or hold you and you just…know?" Her voice broke as the tears in her eyes obscured her vision.

It took less than a second for Lacey to be at her side on the couch, wrapping an arm around her. "You're scaring me a little, Emma," she said, trying to keep her tone humorous. "You're not usually like this."

"No. No, I'm not. It's…" she took in a ragged breath, "overwhelming. I've never felt this before."

Lacey squeezed her arm. "Well then, that's good, isn't it? Why are you crying?"

"Because he doesn't…" she paused to find a word that wouldn't make her sound like a middle school girl crying about a boy not liking her back, "_reciprocate_ my feelings. He had a wife, I think, a long time ago, and he – he can't let her go."

Lacey looked down at her lap, brow furrowed. "Maybe he needs some help letting go. A little nudge?"

"It's not my job to fix him." The words she had repeated in therapy session after therapy session came out of her mouth like they had been programmed into her automatic speech interface. She had been down that route before, a couple times, and it never worked. It had taken her until twenty-five to fully learn that.

"You don't need to fix him," Lacey said. "No one can be fixed. Not completely. All you can do is love the broken man that he is."

Emma straightened and gave her a surprised glance. "Love him? I don't –"

"Darling, you know that I am not a romantic. Not in the slightest. Love at first sight? Rubbish. Soul mates? They don't exist. Kiss the frog and he'll turn into a prince? Dangerous logic at best. I don't believe in any of that. But what I do believe is that you, my friend, are in love."

"No – that's not – I'm not – we've only –" Lacey's accusation had rattled her so much, she couldn't form a coherent sentence. "Love isn't a one-way street," she finally said.

Lacey released a frustrated sigh. "How do you know he doesn't have feelings for you?"

"Because he told me! He flat out told me he wasn't interested in anything with me."

"And since when do we listen to what Ronon Dex _says_ rather than what he _does_?"

It was like a cartoon anvil had been dropped on her head. She had a point.

"Unlike you, my dear, he is not the most linguistically gifted of all people."

Once again, she was right. Hadn't Ronon admitted to exactly that the night before? That he hadn't actually meant the regretful words he had said to Eva after their sparring match?

"So after you came here two nights ago, you did go to Ronon's quarters, didn't you?"

"Yes," Emma admitted.

"But you said you didn't have sex and it sounds like you haven't kissed, either, so what the hell did you end up doing?"

Emma shrugged her shoulders. "We just…slept."

"The whole night?"

She nodded. "And last night, too."

Lacey's eyes went wide as she pulled her head back. "You've spent _two_ nights with him?"

"Well," she started, mad at herself for being unable to stifle the grin on her lips, "the first time was actually on our last mission together. I was freezing and –"

"And you asked him to huddle for warmth? That's the oldest trick in the book! He fell for that?"

"He didn't _fall_ for it. I was legitimately cold! And it was probably warmer for him, too."

"I bet it was," Lacey muttered under her breath.

"Oh, stop." She dug an elbow into her friend's ribs.

"Okay. I'm sorry. So you have, quite literally, slept together three times."

"Yes."

"And does he hold you when you sleep?"

Southern belle she was not, but Lacey had an uncomfortably blunt way of speaking about romantic interactions that often made Emma flinch. "I don't see how that –"

"Does he?"

Emma nodded. "Not intentionally, I don't think, but…it happens."

"Forgive me for bringing this up again, but when the two of us had _relations_," Emma knew that Lacey was suddenly using more delicate vocabulary for her sake, "he left almost immediately after. He didn't hang around for a cuddle. Didn't sleep here." Emma suppressed the sudden impulse to look over at the bed. "He got out of dodge as quickly as he could. I would therefore venture to say that you have seen a side of him that no one else has."

"What are you saying, Lacey?"

"What I'm saying is that you're right. Love is a two-way street. And does Ronon love you? Probably not."

Emma didn't expect that to sting as much as it did, but it felt like someone had jabbed her heart with a toothpick.

"But I don't think his street is totally blocked off, either. To me it sounds like, one by one, he's lifting up his traffic cones so that you can pass."

Lacey's suggestion almost knocked the wind out of her. Was that really what was happening? She always tried her best to take others' words at face value so as not to assign any false or imagined meaning to them, but was this situation with Ronon different?

She could almost hear her mother screaming at her from the back of her mind, telling her that a lady should never chase after a man. "If he's interested, there won't be any doubt in your mind," she'd always say. But there was doubt. She was riddled with it. Then again, maybe the rules for a young, still-healing widower were different…

She thought back over the past few weeks, to every "traffic cone" incident they had experienced together. When they were prisoners and in no position to bargain, he had looked a Wraith straight in the eyes and demanded her medication. He had nearly disobeyed his commanding officer's orders to take care of her when she was injured. He had held her so close in that hallway on the Alpha Site. He had stood up for her during meetings with Woolsey. He had listened to her talk about her family at dinner. He made sure she was safe after her asthma attack last night. And even today, he had come to seek her opinion on a matter of co-parenting.

Glancing over to Lacey, she realized that her friend was already looking back at her, one of her eyebrows raised high. "More wine?" she asked.

Emma gave her almost-empty glass a look of surprise and presented it to her. "Please."


	58. Into the Hive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheppard and Lorne's teams enter the Hive and begin their enzyme harvesting process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Up until this point, I had been writing, posting my chapters on FFN first, taking a break from them, and then re-editing and polishing them before posting the chapters here on Ao3. This is the point where I have run out of a backlog on FFN. My updates may become even less frequent than they have been, so keep a sharp eye out!
> 
> In the interest of being transparent about my process and posting schedule (lolz, lack thereof), I believe that I may have some bipolar tendencies. My mom was diagnosed with bipolar 2 disorder a long, long time ago, and I've long wondered if some of that passed on to me, but in a milder form. If you see a surge of updates/activity from me at one point, and then nothing for a while, this could be why. It's just my natural rhythm. 
> 
> I've also got two, fluffy, romantic, Christmassy one shots that I'll be posting after Thanksgiving. Both involve Ronon and Emma, one of them features Eva, too.
> 
> I hope you'll stay tuned!

Sheppard and Lorne stood huddled together near the rear hatch of the jumper, going over the plan and various contingency plans, should the mission go south. Toward the middle of the ship, McKay was explaining to Lieutenants Coughlin and Reed how to operate the personal cloak, while Teyla, still seated in the cockpit with Eva and Ronon, quietly inspected the Goa'uld zat'nik'tel they had brought along.

Anticipation prickled like an electric current through Eva's skin. The calm before the battle was often worse than the actual fighting and she was itching to get inside the Hive, but the eastern ship was still sending a steady flow of reinforcements down the ramp and toward the other. Only once it slowed down would they be able to enter.

The incessant scrape of Ronon's sword against the whetstone in his hand made the tension that much more unbearable, so she turned in her seat and propped herself on her knees to face him.

"You've been here before, right?" she asked.

His eyes flickered up to hers, but immediately returned to the long sword braced against his knee. "Once. A long time ago. My grandfather suffered from the Second Childhood."

"The one you went to live with after your mother…was taken?"

Teyla looked curiously in their direction, abandoning her inspection of the zat.

Ronon looked up, this time longer than before, and gave her that same look of astonishment as when he noticed her jacket. He nodded.

"How did you get past the Wraith then?" she asked.

"The Wraith hadn't settled here yet. Like I said, it was a long time ago."

He continued sharpening the sword and the swollen red gash along his wrist caught her eye.

She pressed on. "You know that oath you made me take?"

"I didn't _make_ you do anything."

"Is it always the same?"

The scratch of the blade came to a halt and he shifted his attention on her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Like, do you always say the same words? Did you make…Melena say that she would always obey you and do everything you said?" _Did you make my mom say that?_

Tactful as ever, Teyla got up from her seat and joined the others in the rear compartment, but Ronon didn't seem to notice. His eyes were locked onto Eva's, like a missile to its target.

"Again, I didn't _make_ her do anything." His gaze fell to his sword where it lay limp in his lap. "I couldn't have, even if I tried."

Eva expected him to drop the subject there, but to her surprise, he continued talking.

"No…" his voice lowered a fraction, "we made our own vows." From underneath the shadow of his heavy brow, he glanced back at her and a lopsided smile appeared on his face. "The whole obeying and listening to me thing, that was special for you."

Eva chewed the inside of her cheek and sank back into her chair. It was more than she thought he would say, but she could tell he had had enough. After a few seconds of silence, Ronon resumed his sharpening.

He was going to take their oath seriously, and though she had presumed nothing less, it still took her aback. So important was it to him, he had insisted the two reconnaissance teams switch up their members to ensure that he could be with her at all times. Sheppard's team would now only consist of the colonel, Teyla and McKay, while Lorne's team would include Coughlin, Ronon, and herself. Lieutenant Reed would stay behind and guard the cloaked jumper.

Eva's team would take up the vanguard, fully benefitting from Janus' personal cloak, to find and incapacitate any Wraith that crossed their path. Sheppard's team would follow close behind with McKay monitoring their presence on a life signs detector. They would then be in charge of extracting enzyme, planting C4, and disintegrating the Wraith corpses with the zats while Lorne's team stood guard. Two personal cloaks would have been ideal but they had to work with what they had. Maybe once they woke Janus up, he could whip up a spare.

Sheppard came back to the cockpit and put a hand on Eva's chair. "How's it lookin'?"

She glanced through the HUD. A lone Wraith commander descended the ramp. "They're slowing down," she said.

"All right." He checked his sidearm. "Let's head out."

* * *

Ronon's solid presence next to her as they left the relative safety of the Puddle Jumper was a welcome reassurance. In the short time she had been hunted by the Wraith, she had never had someone looking out for her. Now she did.

She looked to the left, at the burning blaze that was the other hive, gleaming bright orange against the navy-black sky. A plume of gray smoke floated high into the air from the only fire the Wraith had managed to extinguish. The haze burned at the back of her throat, but she suppressed the urge to cough. Darts continued to whir overhead in the smoky, starless sky, still searching for their attackers.

As soundlessly as possible, Lorne's team made their way up the loading ramp and when they reached the top, a shockwave surged through Eva's body. Two guards were standing sentry at the entrance. It shouldn't have alarmed her as much as it did; they had been watching the Wraith all afternoon, and the whole point of the mission was to make contact with them. But to see them up close…it still sent her adrenal system into overdrive.

Invisible, Lorne, Lt. Couglin, Ronon and Eva took point to clear and incapacitate the Wraith. Lorne carefully pulled the pin from a smoke grenade and tossed it inside the entrance of the Hive where it landed with a heavy clank. Both guards reacted simultaneously to the sound and aimed their weapons toward the source. White smoke, the same color of the misty Hive floor, rose up in billows, obscuring their surroundings. In a tightly rehearsed maneuver, Ronon and Coughlin left the confines of the cloak just long enough to approach the unsuspecting Wraith from behind and snap their necks.

No blood, no sound, no mess.

She had always known her father was a violent man. Never to her. Never to her mother. But she knew. A few months ago, something as gruesome as what she had just witnessed might have shocked her, but she was different now. Her hands, she realized, had clenched into fists while memories of that same violence coursed through her veins.

They entered the darkness of the Hive. The air was heavy and humid, even thicker than the smoke outside, and Eva found herself trying not to breathe. It chilled her to the bone, leaving her skin damp and clammy. She looked up at Ronon, who didn't look back. His normally bronze skin had taken on a sickly, greenish-white hue. And yet, his expression was calm and determined.

This kind of covert operation wasn't new to him. She had heard the stories about the assault he had led on Sarif Sur when he was only a few years older than her. Older and wiser now, he was back in his element, doing exactly what he had been trained to do, and that helped to settle some of the nerves ricocheting against the walls of her stomach.

After checking around the corners and surrounding area for other Wraith, Lorne gave a quiet go-ahead to Sheppard's team over the radio. To speed things up, Ronon and Eva knelt to the ground and got a jumpstart on the other team's task, slicing open the forearms of the two dead Wraith. Lorne and Coughlin stood guard while they waited for McKay, armed with the life signs detector, to guide the rest of his team to their position. It took the other team only seconds to catch up and for Teyla and Sheppard to take over the skin-crawling process of extracting the enzyme pouch.

"This is so nasty," Sheppard said, breathing only through his mouth.

Teyla dropped the pouch she had excised into a small biohazard canister and placed it in her pack, while Sheppard did the same.

"Finished?" McKay whispered.

Sheppard nodded. "Go ahead, Rodney."

He pointed the zat gun, shot three times, and the bodies disappeared.

Confident they had left no trace of their crime, they proceeded deeper into the Hive.

Both a blessing and a curse, they walked for quite some distance without encountering any more Wraith. Sheppard's team would hide in the shadows, behind walls, and in the nooks and crannies of the ship like cockroaches scattering under a bright light, while Lorne's team pressed ahead.

After nearly a quarter of an hour, they came across a single Wraith on patrol in an otherwise empty corridor. Figuring the space was uninhabited enough, Ronon risked the noise of a single blast from his magnum and the Wraith dropped, a large, smoking hole in the middle of its chest. The stench of burnt flesh singed the inside of Eva's nostrils and she swallowed hard, forcing an involuntary gag back down her throat. Sheppard's team appeared almost instantly to finish the job.

The same phenomenon repeated itself an almost predictable fashion – every fifteen minutes or so, they would sneak up on a lone Wraith and eliminate it – enough that it should have felt routine; but every time Eva caught sight of one of the beasts, her heart would skitter against her ribs. Nonetheless, they continued to move like a well-oiled machine, falling into a comfortable rhythm together until they became too comfortable.

They had come to a point in the ship where the path diverged. Teyla and Sheppard were on the floor, harvesting the enzyme of a Wraith guard they had just brought down. Lorne and Coughlin had their eyes on one fork in the road, Ronon and Eva were guarding the other flank, all while McKay clicked through files of Hive schematics on his tiny tablet, trying to figure out which corridor would lead them to the engine room.

Eva's ears perked. The Hive was quiet, but it wasn't silent. She had quickly accustomed herself to the routine background sounds of the ship: the low hum of the ship's generator, the spontaneous, wet squelches of the organic walls and floor, the stealthy footsteps of her team. This was a new, different sound. An icy chill ran up her backbone. Soft and intermittent, she heard the faint swish of fabric dragging against the ground and looked over her shoulder. A dark shadow, growing in size, loomed behind McKay. Before she could shout a warning, a pale face with sunken yellow-green eyes and a fanged mouth, wide open in a silent snarl, emerged from the mist. With a sweep of its long cloak, the specter seized McKay from behind and brought a dagger to his throat.

In sync but unplanned, Ronon and Eva sent a pair of knives flying across the corridor. Both hit their targets – each sticking squarely in one of the Wraith's eyes – before it could utter a single threat. Crying out in pain and alarm, it fell to its knees, releasing McKay, and Teyla delivered the final, fatal blow.

From a crumpled fetal position on the ground, McKay popped his head above the mist and peeked one eye open. Convinced all threats had been eliminated, he got to his feet and started whisper yelling in Eva and Ronon's general direction.

"Are you crazy?! Those could have hit me! I could very well be blind right now! Or – or worse!"

"Mute?" Eva suggested in a low voice.

"You're welcome," Ronon growled.

"You're fine, Rodney," Sheppard said as he dropped the enzyme pouch of their assailant into his bag and Teyla disintegrated the corpse.

"How much do we have?" Lorne asked Sheppard.

"About half of what we need," he replied.

"And the amount of C4 we've placed so far isn't enough to cripple the ship. Not by a long shot," McKay informed them.

"Then we gotta keep moving. Did you figure out which way it is to the engine room?"

"Left," said McKay, holding the life signs detector so hard that his knuckles turned white.

And so, they kept going, more careful and on edge than before, tacitly wondering if the Wraith that had attacked them had managed to somehow alert the rest of the Hive of intruders.

It was this newfound caution which tipped them off to the presence of a mobile Wraith squadron before they were seen. What began as a simple "did you hear that?" soon grew louder and into the thundering footfall of dozen soldiers coming down the corridor.

"Quick! Get under!" Lorne called to Sheppard's team, scrambling to take cover.

Teyla and McKay, who were closest, managed to squeeze under the cloak's protection, all pressing themselves against the wall. McKay snatched the cloaking device from Coughlin's hands and worked frantically to widen the field. Sheppard, however, was left on the other side of the corridor, completely exposed as the platoon marched closer.

He had only a fraction of a second to make his decision. He looked around his surroundings for cover, but ultimately found none. Just as the squadron, all armed with stunners, rounded the corner, he dropped to the ground on his stomach and under the blanket of hovering mist, hiding him from sight.

The squadron passed, but before they could all take a collective sigh of relief, the commanding officer stopped. He had been bringing up the rear of the group and would have been the last to pass, had he not noticed a small disturbance in the mist. Suspicious, he slowly approached Sheppard's location. He searched the air around him, drew his weapon, and hissed.

Beneath the cloak, Eva bumped Ronon and glanced pointedly toward his blaster. Any other weapon would be too loud. He followed her gaze, but shook his head in denial.

Fine. If he wasn't going to do anything, then she would. She drew a large knife from her sleeve, poised to throw, but Ronon stopped her.

"Wait," he mouthed.

There was a spot she could hit – right between the base of the head and the top of the spine. She pulled her arm back as if to throw, but Ronon gripped her left wrist in his hand and squeezed. Pain from her oath-taking wound shot through her arm, shocking her back to reality. It was the only reminder she needed, and she put the knife down.

The silence that ensued, disrupted only by the hissing of the Wraith standing over Sheppard, was intolerable. As Eva began to wonder if the Wraith could hear the colonel's heartbeat, which must have been hammering, it began to sniff. What was it searching for? The scent of human…or the reek of fear?

A distant sound of query broke the silence and the commander's concentration. It cast one last look around and left to rejoin its group.

Eyes locked on McKay's life signs detector, it was a while before anyone moved. Sheppard was the first to rise and Lorne led the rest of them to him, "That was some quick thinking, Colonel."

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, breathless. "Anyone got a fresh pair of boxers?"

They should have called it then, but the mission wasn't complete. As they moved farther and farther into the belly of the Hive, Eva felt the walls close in on her. With each step they were farther away from being able to find a way out. The dark became oppressive, the mist in her lungs poison. How much longer, she wondered, as her bones tried to worm their way out of her skin.

Did they all feel like this? Or just her?

She took a deep breath, more of the noxious atmosphere filling her chest, and focused.

Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention and before she had time to think, fired a round from her P90.

The first actual shot of the mission fired. They all froze.

The thing about silencers is that they don't actually silence a gunshot. They just make it less explosive. The shot still rang out, loud and clear, before it was absorbed by the organic material of the ship's walls.

No one said a thing, but Sheppard's team wasted no time in harvesting the fallen Wraith's enzyme and getting rid of the body. As Sheppard was helping Teyla zip up her pack, an alarm sounded and Eva's stomach dropped out from beneath her.

"Shit," she heard someone near her say.

The jig was up. The sound from the gun had revealed their presence and it was only a matter of time before a search party found them. The guilt crept up her spine and settled in her chest, and she found it hard to keep back her tears of disappointment.

The alarm continued to wail when a voice came over the intercom. It repeated its message a few times, enough that McKay was able to make out some of it.

"I don't think it's us," he whispered. "They're calling for support to the dart bay."

The weight lifted slightly from Eva's chest.

"Why?" Sheppard asked.

"Hell if I know! My Wraith knowledge skews more toward the academic than the conversational."

"Whatever it is, it can't be good," Ronon said in a low, gruff voice, just loud enough to carry out from under the cloak.

The weight that had lifted returned, this time plummeting into her stomach. He was right.

All of a sudden, Teyla brought a hand to her head and stumbled, reaching out the other to catch herself against the wall.

Sheppard moved in an instant to steady her in his arms. "Teyla! You okay?"

Still holding her head, she glanced up at him. "The queen has awakened."

Sheppard's eyes widened in surprise, but the concern in his expression remained firm.

"What? Are you sure?" McKay asked.

"Yes," she said with a nod. "I can sense her."

Everyone under the cloak looked at one another.

"She is…" she shook her head, "pleased."

"How can you tell?" McKay asked.

"I just can. I cannot explain it."

"Well, that can't be good," he said.

"No."

Without even offering, Sheppard took Teyla's pack from her and flung it over his own shoulder. "How close are we to the dart bay?"

McKay pulled out his tablet and consulted it quickly. "It should be to the right and a few corridors down. Not too far."

Sheppard nodded, taking a moment to formulate a plan. "We need to split up. Lorne – you and your team go see what's going on in the dart bay. McKay will take Teyla and me to the engine room so that we can plant our final charges there. Continue with our objective, but only if you can remain completely undetected. We don't need the queen to know we're here."

"Yes, sir," said Lorne.

"Wait a minute. So they get to take the cloak and we're completely out in the open?" McKay asked.

"Yes, Rodney," Sheppard replied, fed up. "They get the cloak because they're going somewhere there will be a high concentration of Wraith. We will likely be heading toward a mostly abandoned engine room. The majority of the Hive's engineers are tending to the other ship. And as long as you keep your mouth shut, we'll probably remain undetected!"

McKay opened his mouth and closed it a few times like a fish out of water.

"Teyla, give 'em your zat."

Lt. Coughlin stepped out from under the cloak to meet her and took the weapon before disappearing again.

"Stay on your radios, but keep contact to a minimum. Let us know what's going on when you get to the bay."

"Yes, sir," Lorne replied.

"Good luck," Sheppard said.

"You too, sir."

Sheppard glanced at the detector in McKay's hands, then back toward Eva's team. "And don't get lost."

"We won't," Ronon said.

Eva could have sworn she saw a small smile form on Sheppard's face before they split paths, each team heading down their own long, dark passageway.

As they forged ahead, to the right and a few corridors down, just like McKay had said, they began to encounter the Wraith in much higher concentrations than before. Enough Wraith passed by to meet their enzyme quota three times over, but the odds weren't in their favor. Instead, the four of them huddled closer to each other, Ronon taking Eva under his arm and giving her elbow a reassuring pat. The mass in her stomach eased up a bit.

Treading lightly, they came across a few solitary Wraith that earlier would have been prime targets. Lacking the time to harvest the enzyme without another Wraith discovering them, they let them be and passed on by. Each one felt like such a waste.

Faster than anticipated, they arrived at the entrance to the dart bay where both Lorne and Coughlin stopped in their tracks.

"Oh, shit," Lorne said.

Eva peered around his side and her heart sank when she saw what had made them freeze: a Puddle Jumper parked in the middle of the dart bay.

"Colonel Sheppard," Lorne whispered into his radio, "they've got Miller and Simpson."


End file.
